Battle Maiden
by ErtheChilde
Summary: When betrayal robs her of her family, young Elissa Cousland finds herself recruited to an ancient order and fleeing across the country with the Warden Commander Duncan. As the offensive of Ostagar looms ever closer, Elissa realizes that to survive the destiny she envisioned for herself, she will have to grow up very quickly. [Under Editing 2015-05-12; Check Back Soon!]
1. Chapter One

**_Battle Maiden_**  
>by ErtheChilde<p>

**_"My father once told me that adventure is just someone else knee-deep in shite far from home. Maker, but I wish I had listened to him."_**

* * *

><p><em>Disclaimer:<em>  
>This story utilizes characters, situations and premises that are copyright © BioWare and Electronic Arts. No infringement on their respective copyrights is intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan oriented story is written solely for the author's own amusement and for the entertainment of the readers. They are not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All fiction, plot and Original Characters with the exception of those introduced in the books and feature films, are the sole creation of ErtheChilde and using them without permission is considered rude, in bad-taste and will reflect seriously on your credibility as a writer. There may or may not be a curse in your future as well, so be warned. Remember, all things come in threes, good and bad. Plagiarizing is considered bad.<p>

_Rating:_  
>M for violence, coarse language, suggestive adult themes and the possibility of a very naked king of Ferelden. (Note: No elves, dwarves, werewolves or golems were harmed in the making of this fic)<p>

_Summary:_ Born into one of the most powerful noble families in Ferelden, Elissa Cousland's future seemed set in stone – until betrayal forced her onto a perilous path that challenged everything she thought she knew about revenge, honour, sacrifice and love.

_Note: This chapter uses dialogue directly from the game. No infringement is meant, simply a means to frame to situations and plot for the characters. I will try to keep direct game dialogue to a minimum, except where it is needed._

* * *

><p><em>Chapter One:<em>

The sword cleaved downward in a smooth arc, aiming for the juncture between her clavicle and shoulder. Elissa shifted to raise her guard, only just catching the strike with her own blade. There was a clang, and the vibration of metal on metal pulsed through the handle. She lashed out in a back-swing aimed for her opponent's head.

Aedan parried with ease and stepped back, grinning at her in amusement despite the sweat that trickled from beneath his helm and down his beardless face. "Your guard is too low. I almost ended your illustrious duelling career before it began."

"My guard is fine," she panted as they circled each other. "I just haven't practiced in a while."

"That, dear girl, is obvious."

"If you two would quit dancing around and get to it – I've got ten silver on this match!" her older brother Fergus called from across the yard where he and some of the other Highever knights were watching the bout. The inner courtyard was packed with knights and lesser soldiers; most of them were training like her, but the rest were bustling around in a state of nervous preparation. There was a palpable sense of anticipation in the air as the men waited for their marching orders.

"You faith in my abilities is flattering, really," she called back sarcastically.

"I didn't say I was betting on you!"

Aedan sniggered, and while Elissa didn't think that was exactly fair, she could also see her brother's point. Although she was holding her own, for once, and had improved her stamina since the last time she had convinced Aedan to spar with her, it was clear who was going to win. She was still far from the expertise of a seasoned fighter. Where her swings were wild, Aedan's were smooth and purposeful. Her footwork, which even her rivals admitted was rather advanced, seemed like a toddler's tentative stumble next to his careful steps.

It was hot for Funalis, sunny except for some high haze and the occasional cloudy break. The din of men's voices and the sound of clanking weapons filled the air of the courtyard beyond the gates of Highever Castle. A dusty odour of cut grains and sweat mingled with the smoke of the forge beyond the wall and the familiar dung smell of animals from the nearby farm. The harvest was in. That morning the Teryn's vassals had started bringing the usual percentage of their goods to be stockpiled at the castle for the coming winter. Elissa's mother had wanted her to help oversee this, and she had only managed to escape the dull task when Nan came barging in, shouting about her latest crisis. Elissa hadn't stayed to find out what it was, too intent on not wasting one of the last decent days of the season. That had been hours ago.

As though bidden by her thoughts, she glanced up into the battlements where several figures were watching the match. Her mother stood there with others Elissa couldn't make out, and she winced. Not that she had been hiding, exactly, but her mother was bound to lecture her for abandoning her responsibilities earlier. On the other hand, with company in the castle, there was the slim chance the Teryna wouldn't bring up such trivialities.

"Were there no opportunities for you to train while you were mingling with the other delicate flowers of court?" Aedan puffed as she leaped at him, parrying with ease. Yet again she only barely managed to guard, wavering slightly to her left as her shield weighed her down.

Elissa snorted. "I'm hardly a 'delicate flower'."

"True. You're more like a beanstalk, all tall and weedy and – mind your left! – and stubborn."

She ignored him, trying to open the space between them for fuller, more fluid swings, but Aedan continued to press closer relentlessly. He kept the distance between them tight enough that she had no room, but maintained enough space to keep her from landing a blow on him.

"And here I thought you might have used the time in Denerim to show off for the king's guard," he continued loudly. "You know, take time to learn tactics from some of the best soldiers in Ferelden."

"Unfortunately, my mother insisted on a different sort of tactical education," Elissa ground out in effort, once again wavering slightly as she struggled to counterbalance the shield on her left arm.

"Oh? Do tell."

"Apparently she felt I was entirely too ignorant in the softer arts and that it was time to gain practice in diplomacy and subtlety."

"How so?"

"She threw me to the mercy of those prudish harpies at court and told me, 'Chin up'."

"Sounds like your mother."

"Her plan backfired," she wheezed, trying to manoeuvre her shield around the bulk of her armour. She was tiring of the handicap it caused. "Instead of holding my head high and demurring whatever insults that cabal of nattering hens sent my way, I ended up in a shouting match with Bann Esmerelle from Amaranthine."

Aedan roared with laughter, and she took advantage of the brief let-up to throw off her offending gear and lunge at him with both hands on the hilt of her sword. He still managed to dodge her.

"So what did she say about that?"

"Mother or Bann Esmerelle?"

"Your mother."

"She refused to speak to me for two weeks. I was relegated to the palace libraries for the remainder of the visit."

He laughed again. "Did you at least learn something?"

"Yes," Elissa grunted. "That I've no taste for convoluted schemes and political back-speak." She charged forward, beating Aedan into a retreat. "There's no value at all in that type of deception, it simply serves –" she parried one of his blows, "– to tie important matters up into an unmanageable knot –" he only just caught her next thrust on the corner of his shield, "– that only a good sword can sort out."

He frowned, and Elissa felt a brief moment of triumph when he stopped talking, concentrating his effort on meeting her attacks. They continued to circle, occasionally ducking toward each other with swipes that never reached their intended mark, blocked with the pulsing clash of metal. The pattern repeated several times, and Elissa thought she was beginning to notice a pattern to his attack –

Suddenly, Aedan moved left.

Desperate to head him off she followed him, but he lunged back before she realized what he was feinting, crouching low and jutting his leg out to trip her. Unable to react in time, she stumbled backward and fell hard on her backside, the leather armour she wore providing little cushioning against the surprising impact.

There was no time to recover, as the cold tip of his sword brushed against her throat.

"Do you yield?"

Elissa glowered at him, but after a moment grumbled, "I yield."

Around the courtyard, the other knights cheered, and she could hear the sound of coins changing hands while losers groaned curses. Fergus laughed as he grabbed a pouch of coins from one of his friends, and started over towards them. Aedan was already reaching for her with a free hand.

"That wasn't fair!" she protested even as she accepted his help. "That was a dishonourable move, and in a proper fight –"

"Life's not fair," Aedan told her bluntly. "Which I believe was the lesson your mother had hoped you would take from your visit to the palace. As much as we praise the law and all the rules that go with it, life is very much what you can get away with doing. The true measure of a man – or woman, in your case – is knowing this and choosing to act honourably." He lowered his voice until only she could hear him. "Never underestimate the value of a well-timed deception."

Elissa shivered. She often forgot that however jovial he might be, Aedan was one of Ferelden's better soldiers, and had seen battles she only dreamed of.

"You're clearly in need of more practice, little sister," Fergus chuckled as he neared, clapping Aedan on the back in congratulations. Elissa had once heard the Arlessa of South Reach remark that the Couslands were of handsome stock, and looking at her brother now, she was sure there was some truth to it. He had the dark good looks of her father and grandfather, but where theirs had been a rugged handsomeness, his looks were refined by their mother's qualities. He carried his height well, not in the gangly fashion of some men, but with a natural poise that Elissa could never have achieved without years of training.

She rolled her eyes as she doffed her helmet. Her dark reddish brown hair was in a tangled and damp braid, and her cheeks were flushed from effort. Like Fergus, she was lanky, her only resemblance to their mother being the clear almond-shaped eyes passed down through the Franderel line.

"She always needs more practice," Aedan remarked with a teasing grin, removing his own helm. His hair, the same shade as hers and Fergus's, was similarly matted and stuck to his head with perspiration, but his blue eyes crackled with warmth. "I must say, though, you have improved since we last fought."

"You say that every time, and I have yet to beat you," she complained, and then added with a resentful look, "Either of you."

"Give it time," they chorused, and then laughed. She made a face. It was times like these, when they stood so close together, that even a Chasind savage would have known them to be kin. It had been ten years since Teryn Bryce Cousland acknowledged that he had fathered a bastard, and while this had caused scandal and discord in the family, it had also become a contributing factor in allowing Elissa to train as a warrior.

Her parents had married late, but were blessed with a child relatively quickly. Unfortunately, Fergus had been a sickly baby, and there had been the pressing need to bear more children lest any harm befall the only heir to the Cousland name. Four years of trying yielded no results, but the Teryn had not wanted to put aside the wife he loved just to secure the succession. In the end he secretly took the castle cook to his bed and fathered Aedan, who despite being a bastard, would be eligible to inherit Highever should the Teryn die and the worst happen to Fergus. As it was, the latter grew stronger with each passing year, making the Teryn's secret liaison all but void. Then, Elissa's miraculous birth three years later, although it had cost the Teryna her ability to have any more children and very nearly her life, solidified the succession for good. The matter of Aedan would have remained secret, and Elissa's life would have been very different, had the boy not resembled the Couslands as strongly as he did.

By the time Aedan was nine, it was no longer possible to deny the truth. Teryn Cousland's decision to acknowledge Aedan as his own had prompted the Teryna to elicit a promise in return: Aedan could not claim the Cousland name while Fergus or Elissa still lived. If Fergus perished first, Elissa was entitled to the terynir in all of its capacities before Aedan, despite the fact that he was an older male heir to Bryce. As soon as this was bound by law, the Teryna had the boy's mother sent away and Aedan was dispatched to Amaranthine to become a page. Elissa would not see him again until she was thirteen, and much would change within that time.

The Teryna was no fool. She had come from West Hill, which was close enough to both the Frostback Mountains and Orlais that political deception and battle formed the bread and butter of the people there. As any delicate noblewoman reared in the west, Lady Eleanor Franderel had presided over the defences of her family's estate several years before she married the Teryn of Highever. A talented archer, she would light barrels of oil and have them catapulted over the West Hill walls at attacking bandits, a strategy she still employed during the summer months when raids on Castle Cousland were more common. Whenever one of the visiting court ladies would remark condescendingly that females shouldn't lower themselves to pugilism, Elissa's mother would twist her mouth into a wry sort of smirk and retort, "Well, what do you expect them to do when the men are at war and bandits attack? Sit in their kitchens and polish the silver?"

It was exactly this shrewdness which had made the Teryna act. She knew the minds of the men who ruled Ferelden and those who supported the leaders. If Aedan Bryceson ever wished to contest Elissa's claim to Highever, there was a strong likelihood that he could easily gain supporters to put her aside based on the supposed weakness of her gender. To Eleanor, this was unacceptable, and so she petitioned her husband to allow Elissa to train as a knight. As much as the Teryn had wanted to appease his wife, he had felt it would be inappropriate for a young girl to be sent to serve a battle-hardened man. In the end, the compromise was reached that Elissa would be taught with the pages and squires who came to Highever Castle for their training. It took a while before they accepted her presence among them, but her enthusiasm and natural talent eventually convinced most that she belonged there.

Over the years, and in light of the most recent visit to court, it became evident to Elissa that her comrades' acceptance was the best she could hope for. Her training caused a stir among the nobility, for although a fair percentage of the warriors in Ferelden were female, they were never of noble lineage. Joining the army was a bit of a double-edged sword in itself. To the sons of the gentry who were ranked above the common soldier, it was a dignified undertaking that brought with it status and glory; only few, like Fergus, were granted such eminent positions. For the vast majority that joined up as infantrymen, or more rarely as cavalrymen, it was a pursuit left to commoners and the lesser nobility who could not inherit their family holdings, such as Aedan. In short, it was considered undesirable. The nobility regarded the women who joined the armed forces or the various mercenary bands which roamed through the Korcari Wilds as no better than the camp followers who trailed the army, only along because they were of questionable virtue and desperate enough to take any trade they could find. Thus it was practically unheard of for a noble woman to take up knight training.

Elissa's life took another turn when she was fourteen and Fergus's wife Oriana gave birth to a son. Suddenly the Cousland succession was ironclad and her wish to continue her training became a secondary concern to the duties a noblewoman needed to learn. Her father began to insist on her mastering more appropriate skills, such as dancing and embroidery, while her mother shifted her education towards the managing of a household rather than its defence. They never told her to stop training, but their encouragements all but ceased, until it was only Elissa's determination to succeed that drove her onward.

Around that time, Aedan finally returned to Highever. By then, he had become a knight of the realm and Amaranthine became the home he had never had in the castle. He would pass through every few months, and eventually a wary camaraderie sprang up between the three siblings. In Elissa's case, a genuine affection developed as she discovered that he too felt slighted by his station in life.

'However in his case, he can actually do something about that,' she thought bitterly. Even if he never did inherit Highever, Aedan could gain distinction in other areas. In the same ways that her age-mates could move up through the ranks and be sought to serve Ferelden's greatest warriors, Aedan could win renown for himself while Elissa remained cosseted within the walls of Highever Castle. 'I'll never be anything more than a teryn's over-indulged daughter.'

"As fun as it is to watch you to bash at each other with swords all afternoon, Oriana will have my head if I'm not halfway presentable by dinner," Fergus said cheerfully, interrupting her thoughts. He clasped hands with Aedan. "Good luck in the Free Marches. I have faith that you will place well at the Grand Tourney."

"Perhaps when this darkspawn nonsense is over we will all travel there and test our mettle," Aedan returned. He winked at Elissa. "Supposing you two aren't tethered by marriage and populating Ferelden with hundreds of Cousland brats."

"Regardless, we'll make it there," Fergus vowed. He nudged Elissa as he passed. "I'll see you later, then?"

"Of course."

He wandered away, leaving Aedan and Elissa alone. Aedan waited until Fergus was safely out of sight, before snorting, "So has Oriana still got him...?" He made a vulgar gesture with his hand, and Elissa laughed.

"Of course," she made the same gesture. "Like a vice."

"I'm glad I don't have to worry about acquiring a ball and chain of my own for quite some time."

"If anyone ever called me that, they'd soon find themselves short of a head," Elissa declared. "Not that it would ever happen. With Fergus and Oren, there's no cause for me to marry."

Something unreadable passed over Aedan's face, and he considered her with a half-hearted smile. "What, no prospects? Not even a paramour or two?"

Elissa shrugged, not wanting to answer.

She was passably attractive, she supposed, although her age-mates had always teased her for what they considered unnatural height – she was as tall as most of the men sworn to her father – and her lack of curves. Even without the padding of her training gear hiding her figure, she was not as spectacularly endowed as many of the women she had chanced to see at court, being more muscular than voluptuous due to her training. Delilah Howe had once poked fun at her mannish shoulders, exclaiming that she was as shapeless as a cow, and that no man would woo a woman whose hands were as calloused and scarred as hers were. Even Nan, who had practically raised her and took pride in her various accomplishments, would shake her head and make disparaging comments, such as her eyes being set too close together or the sharpness of her features needing to be diminished with face-paint such as what the court ladies wore.

"How else are you supposed to catch a man without softening up those angles?" the old woman would bemoan when Elissa visited her in the kitchen where she had been employed as the cook for almost ten years. "No man of good breeding will ever look at a chit whose muscles are bigger than his!"

Elissa had never tried to "catch a man" because, despite her parents insisting that she be given a measure of choice in a future match, she knew that any marriage would lead to the end of whatever freedom she currently had. As lenient as they were, she doubted they would applaud their only daughter taking up with a farmer's son or pig-herder, regardless of how much she supposedly loved him. The only reason that Fergus had been allowed to marry for love was because the object of his affections happened to be the daughter of the Antivan ambassador and was thus an acceptable political match. As much as Elissa's favourite tomes and stories praised the wonder and power of love, she had long ago resigned herself to the fact that it was not something in her future. It was part of the reason that she remained dedicated to her training, the only passion she had ever had.

This didn't mean that she was inexperienced, as it were. She had slipped out with several of her age-mates during midwinter celebrations over the years to exchange clumsy embraces and innocent petting. As soon as she realized that their interest in her was usually limited to the size of her dowry than rather any true attraction, though, she broke those liaisons off. The sting of this discovery ended any further dalliances with her age-mates, and in times when the loneliness became most frustrating, she would sweet-talk one of the servant girls into her bed, rationalizing that another woman couldn't leave her with a child and was not likely to pursue her for her station.

'Even that's too few and far between to count,' she thought ruefully as she forced herself back to the present.

"I have no wish to become some noble's breeding mare," she told Aedan. "I would rather die in battle and in glory."

Aedan looked as though he wanted to say something to that, but changed his mind and instead commented, "I'd wager if you had been here when the Teryn held that tournament a few weeks ago, you would have done well in the listings."

"I can't believe he did that," Elissa complained. "He couldn't have put it off another week? Then I'd at least have been able to catch the end of it."

"No one knew how long that Grey Warden would be staying," Aedan reasoned. "The Teryn most likely wished to take advantage of his presence. As it is, I think the tournament is what convinced the Warden to stay a little longer. I hear he's decided to recruit while he's here – he's already sent the knight who won the tournament on to rest of the Wardens at Ostagar."

"Really?" Elissa asked, pausing to consider this new development. She had known that there had been a Grey Warden in Highever, but she hadn't realized that he might still be here. "How long is he staying? Do you think he'd take a look at me?"

"You may have improved, pup," Aedan told her, and she rolled her eyes at the nickname that everyone in her family used, "but you're no master. I notice your shield work is as shoddy as ever. You're still too green, and no one – Grey Warden or not – is going to look at a beanpole who can't keep her balance in a fight."

"I've told you before; I can keep my balance fine. It's using a shield which is the problem. It limits my mobility as well."

"You'll appreciate that limited mobility when you're not taking a dagger under your floating rib," he replied darkly. "Like anything, it takes practice to become comfortable with using a shield."

"I've had six years of practice. If I haven't got it now, I doubt I ever will."

Aedan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't understand you."

"Shields just don't feel right."

"Perhaps you're simply concentrating on the wrong side? You've fought with both your hands, yes? Is it any better when you shield your right side and fight with your left?"

"Worse."

"Have you gone to the armoury to change the weight of it?"

"Several times. I've tried having the shape altered as well. Nothing seems to work."

Aedan shrugged. "Then all I can suggest is to keep trying until you find the right fit."

"Or give up on shields altogether."

He blinked, and then a look of understanding and exasperation crept across his face. "You're not still on about that, are you?"

Elissa forced herself to maintain an innocent expression. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You are, aren't you? Maker give me strength," he groaned. "How many times must I tell you that it's not a good idea for you to train with a greatsword?"

"As many times as I have to tell you that I don't want to fight with a great clunking wagon wheel weighing me down," she retorted.

Recently, one of her age-mates had been knighted, and Elissa overheard him remark to a friend that she wasn't anything special. "So the wench can wield a blade – it's not as if it's exactly difficult, she might as well be waving a knitting needle about for all the use she'll be. No one will take a girl seriously over a simple sword. Even dwarf women can use one. She'd be more valuable to the Bannorn on her back."

It had been this insult which had driven her to try for better. She made a study of various weapons and fighting styles, eventually settling on the greatsword. It suited her needs, in terms of the skill it would take to wield it and the benefit of not needing a shield. She asked her parents to find her a teacher who could instruct her in the art, but the results were not encouraging. Their reception was as incredulous and dismissive as Aedan's. In the end, she had to bribe several servants to raid the Highever shops for any accounts or manuals on the subject, while she paid special attention to any visiting knights whose forte was the sought-after weapon.

Her own training was slow. It was only seldom that she could sneak into the Castle armoury and commandeer one of the heavy blades. Even before she could swing it without injury, it took much energy just lifting the thing. Her arms ached for weeks as she began to train, and she spent more time trying to strengthen her grip and muscles than dwelling on any type of technique.

"I know enough one-handed fighting to hold my own, but I need to learn a technique that increases the odds in my favour," she continued. "To use your words, dear brother, I'm a beanpole. And if I'm anything like you and Fergus, I'm not finished growing yet. These longswords are going to be useless to me the older I get, and we all know that I lack the coordination to fight with daggers. You've both said yourselves that there are advantages to a larger weapon."

"When you have the upper-body strength necessary to use one," Aedan told her shortly, his expression serious. "You don't have it. You're –" he paused, glanced around to make sure that no one was listening, and then continued in a lower voice, "– you're not taking into account your body's limitations."

"Limitations," Elissa echoed, unimpressed. "And what would those be? I'm as tall as any other knight under Father's command – taller, if you want to count the elves who have sworn him service. And I've trained just as hard as – if not harder than any other squire. Pray tell, what are these limitations you speak of?"

"You know what I mean. As much as you deny it, you have a more delicate nature."

"That fact is hardly a convincing argument," she sniffed. "We both know knights who are women, and Father even had several Ash warriors here who were of the _gentler _sex. No one questioned their ability to bear arms."

"That's…different."

"Queen Rowan was said to be a deft hand at wielding a greatsword," Elissa continued doggedly, "and the histories record that even Moira Therein used to charge into battle with her father's claymore."

"Charging out with one and actually fighting with one are two completely different things – surely your teachers have explained the difference between history and myth?" Aedan argued. "I know I've heard old Aldous say that more than once."

"Very well – if you want fact, then just look at Bann Alfstanna," she pointed out with a note of triumph in her voice. "She's commanded her men personally in every border clash Waking Seas has participated in for the last ten years and, she isn't known for using a shield – she's a force to be reckoned with, fighting with those axes of hers!"

"That's different," he repeated again. "She can actually lift them without injury to herself."

"There would be no problem with injury if I could be properly trained!"

"Ellie," Aedan sighed, using his personal nickname for her, "you're not a war hero or warrior from the legends, no matter how many of the old tales you've read or how many bard's songs you become enchanted with. With that useless brother of hers leaving to become a Templar and their parents passed on, Alfstanna's had no choice. You know she's the exception and not the rule –"

"– Exactly –!"

" – And before you say you could be an exception as well, consider your situation. You're in no position to compare yourself with Alfstanna – you remain securely in the care of your parents and Fergus. These mythical women you so look up to aren't real. Even if they were at one time, they lived and breathed the life of a warrior, which as much as you might aspire to, is not in your future."

"Was my training not a safeguard for my future?" she asked scathingly.

She felt slight guilt at the injured look on his face, but he shook it off so quickly that she was able to fight it down. Aedan took on a dogged tone. "You're not the only noblewoman that's been given at least some training – Maker bless the women of Ferelden for not being such shrinking violets as you would find in Orlais. But your dreams of glory on the battlefield are as possible as my dreams of being recognized as a Cousland heir."

Elissa felt her jaw clench, and he made a pacifying gesture.

"I do not tell you this to dishearten you, little sister, only to prepare you. Whatever the Teryn's reasons for allowing you to train, they will always be secondary to marriage to a well-connected family. Just look to your mother – was she not a renowned shield-maiden in her youth? Do you see her spending time whacking at straw mannequins in the courtyard? Of course not! Now she does her duty as a nobleman's wife and runs the affairs of the estate." He smiled sadly and continued, "Understand that when I tell you it is a waste of your time to learn to wield a greatsword, I mean the time that remains for you to do so." He reached over and ruffled her hair affectionately. "If you had been born a lesser noble or a commoner or even illegitimate like me, I'm sure you would have become the legendary warrior you dream of becoming."

Belatedly, she pulled away from him, squaring her shoulders. "I don't accept that. Especially not if the rumours of Blight are true. Father just received news from King Cailan that an offensive against them is being organized. Every able bodied warrior, man or woman, will be called on to fight."

"Even if there is a darkspawn threat, it is unlikely that it will reach you here," Aedan insisted, and the sympathy in his tone grated worse than a direct insult.

"Well, if that's the truth of the matter, then there's no point to continuing this discussion," Elissa snapped, throwing down her shield in anger. "I'll just go inside and learn to crochet than, shall I?"

She made to stalk off, but Aedan was quick, grabbing hold of her and turning her to face him. "Oh no you don't, _milady_. I know it's not something you want to hear, but you're going to hear it anyhow. Honesty's not something you'll always encounter, whatever your future, so take it where you can." He smiled fondly. "I'm not letting you march off in a tantrum on the last day we'll get to see each other."

Despite her annoyance, Elissa felt her heart plummet. "Isn't there any way you can stay longer? You don't _have_ to take part in the Grand Tourney."

"It's not just a journey of pleasure. I sail under orders," Aedan told her. "The king wants any of our men stationed overseas to return in case we need reserves. I'm to act as commander of that force until its return to Ferelden." He couldn't keep the pride off his face, even as he leaned in conspiratorially. "Between you and me, though, I think it was Teyrn Mac Tir's idea, in case the offensive at Ostagar comes to nothing. Cailan's a bit of a dolt when it comes to tactics."

Elissa adopted a look of mock outrage. "That's our king you're talking about."

"Who says being king automatically bars one from being a fool?" Aedan retorted. "Look at Meghren."

"Point taken," Elissa granted. The excesses of the Orlesian puppet king of Ferelden were well-known and generally used as a cautionary tale.

"My lady!"

She looked up. One of the servants was hovering near the main gate, waving at her. She sighed, sure that her mother finally wished to speak with her. She reached out to touch Aedan's shoulder with affection. "I should see about that – how long will you be here?"

"I leave within the hour," he told her.

"Then I probably won't see you until you return," she said ruefully. She hugged him.

"We'll meet again before you know it," he countered as he pulled away, ruffling her hair again. "And Elissa?" She paused as she pulled away. "Stop taking things so seriously. Making mistakes is a part of getting older and wiser. As long as you're able to, enjoy the life you've been given. You never know..."

He trailed off with a shrug. Elissa considered him a moment, and then nodded. "Be safe, brother."

"Be _good_, sister."

With a final wave, she jogged from the training grounds to meet the servant. It was Mithra, one of the elves who served the family and who Elissa had taken her lessons with as a child. Her father had insisted that even the servants in his castle were to be well educated, regardless of their birth. It was a practice she knew many of the banns and arls criticized him over, but which he remained steadfast in.

That most of his servants were elves was the point of contention for most other nobles, who truly believed the other race to be beneath theirs. Once, she had visited the Howe family of Amaranthine with her parents and had watched their son, Thomas, verbally castigate one of the elfin servants there, calling the boy "knife-ears". She had called one of Nan's helpers the same the next day, and was promptly turned over her mothers' knee and given the spanking of her life. Sent to bed without dinner, she had waited in confused misery until her father appeared and explained why her behaviour was unacceptable.

"The responsibility of those born to privilege is to aid the unfortunate classes, not subjugate them, so that one day they may better themselves without our guidance. One day all men and women, regardless of race, will be equal. Only on that day will there be true peace," he would say. "Never forget the nobility is a privilege that comes with accountability, something that must be earned, not simply hidden behind or taken advantage of."

Returning her thoughts to present matters, she smiled at her friend. "Good afternoon, Mithra, what is it?"

"Your father requires your presence in the main hall," Mithra told her.

Elissa frowned. "Can it wait? I've just been training in the courtyard. I'm not exactly at my most presentable right now…"

Mithra hesitated, and finally shook her head. "I think he would like to see you sooner rather than later. He was…a bit short with me."

This surprised Elissa. Her father was usually the most even tempered member of the family, with her mother or sister-in-law Oriana more likely to curse at the servants than he was. Her mind flashed back to the bustle of activity that had encompassed the castle for several days now. Coupled with her father's message from King Cailan…

A feeling of excitement flashed through her. Was it possible that he would ask her to come with him? She knew that he had decided that Fergus would be taking up the Cousland banner, but when she had hinted at wanting to come along with them, her father had evaded her, promising to speak about it later. There was no need for her to stay behind, as she saw it. The keep was well-guarded, even with a skeleton force, and everyone knew the Teryna's abilities. Despite her loss to Aedan earlier, Elissa believed herself to be a capable fighter. Darkspawn were not seasoned warriors; it was their overwhelming numbers which won battles, not their tactics or skill. Even fighting with a bothersome shield weighing her down she would be a better hand than many of the ill-prepared infantry men who had been conscripted into the king's forces!

'And if he's not going to ask…I'll make him,' she thought resolutely.

"Whatever it is, it sounds important," she mused out loud, trying not to sound too excited. "Thank you, Mithra, I'll go straight there."

Her friend offered her a mischievous grin. "Your favourite Arl is there. Lord Cousland wanted me to remind you to keep a civil tongue, or he would take away your hunting privileges."

Elissa stifled a groan. There was only one man whom Mithra could be talking about. Arl Rendon Howe of Amaranthine was an old friend of her father's, who had fought against the Orlesian occupation with him decades earlier. They had been among barely fifty survivors of the bloody battle of White River, and both Howe and her father had been decorated for valour by the then king, Maric Theirin. She heard that Howe had once been a good man to have a laugh and a pint with, but her earliest memories of the him were of an abrasive, dour-faced individual with ambitions for power that often left his lands in disrepair and had him borrowing money or soldiers from her father. Since her sixteenth birthday there had been talk of her marriage to one of Howe's sons. So far she had managed to stall the possibility, and if she had her way, she would interrupt the plans altogether.

"Father seems to enjoy testing my ability to deal with complete tripe," she snorted.

"He did say something about your learning to control your temper," Mithra granted.

"All right. Thank you, Mithra."

"Will you be sneaking out to the tavern with Nollarr and me tonight?" her friend asked. "That bard you enjoy so much is going to be performing again. Perhaps you'll meet a comely lad or lass to dance with and have some fun for a change?"

"I have enough of my mother's friends calling me slattern behind my back without adding fuel to the flames," Elissa replied archly. "Besides, you've seen me dance. I'd rather not start another bar-brawl."

"Even you have to admit, that cripple had a better sense of rhythm than you."

Elissa groaned and turned away. "I'm leaving now."

Her friend's laughter followed her as she headed toward the main hall of the castle, where her father entertained his most important guests. As she strolled through the familiar halls of her home, the step of her boots and flap of the leather armour echoed off of the cobblestone floors and packed stone walls. Even the passageways that were open to the sky seemed rather empty today. There were only a few guards who remained on duty, stationed near the heavy wooden doors, as the rest were outside the castle gates being drilled within formation and engaging in their other training.

The emptiness made her wary, and more conscious than ever that the purpose of the castle was for sanctuary and defence rather than comfortable living. Save for the tapestries in the Cousland colours that lined some of the walls and floors, there was little extravagance to be seen. The original castle had been built almost five hundred years before, although those foundations were lost deep beneath the current structure, which was fashioned from the best materials that could be found in the Brecellian Forest. The arched ceilings and sturdy oak beams were said to be able withstand even the onslaught of a trebuchet – at least that was what Brother Aldous had always said during her lessons with him – and the doors to the main hall were reinforced with iron that would remain strong in the event of an attack and the need to wait out an enemy within.

She paused before these same doors, a stray thought momentarily making her resolve waver. What if her father hadn't summoned her for anything to do with the war effort? The presence of Arl Howe could mean something entirely different. Now that she thought of it, she hadn't seen any of the Arl's forces in the courtyard preparing for battle. Was it possible that this audience had a more menial purpose?

She squared her shoulders. 'If Father and Arl Howe believe I am simply going to accept that type of interference in my future…'

She pushed open the doors before she could falter again. The hall was filled with soldiers wandering to and fro, both the regular guardsmen of the keep and many of the lieutenants and commanders who would be following her father into battle. The fire in the grate, burning merrily to keep back the ever-present dampness of the stone castle, threw warm shadows across the cobbled floor and made the faces of the various Cousland lords of old seem more grotesque and forlorn than usual.

"…troops will be here shortly?" her father's smooth baritone was clear and even across the large hall, and she tried to pull some measure of comfort from the fact he didn't sound worried or tense.

Teryn Bryce Cousland stood close to the fire, facing away from her as he spoke to his old friend. Even with his back turned, he was an imposing figure. Tall and barrel-chested, he carried himself with a confidence that she doubted she would ever be able to achieve, and his iron-grey hair and beard conveyed an image of great wisdom. It was not simply an illusion, she knew, as her father was a highly intelligent man, his pursuit of knowledge having been his first love. Some of the nobles had even insinuated that he would make a better king than Cailan, but as far as Elissa knew, her father didn't have any ambitions higher than the terynir. Once, when she was younger, she had asked him if he liked being a teryn.

"That's a complicated question, pup," he had replied. "I don't suppose anyone truly _likes_ being responsible for the fate of thousands. To the foolish man, holding power means doing what he wishes with no regard to others. As much as there are days when I would prefer to sit in your grandfather's library and read until my eyes bleed, my duty is to the kingdom. And so, while I may not always like being teryn, I like being able to effect change. We Couslands do our duty. Our actions will not always be popular, or liked – we might even disagree with them on a personal level as well – but they are always done to benefit the kingdom."

"…can march tomorrow," Arl Howe was saying, his voice as oily as usual. She had to fight back the roiling distrust that seeped into her veins at his very presence in her home. Comparing Howe to her father was rather like comparing a weasel to a lion. The man was wiry and sallow-skinned, with a mouth that was permanently set in a frown that grew much more pronounced when he was not having his own way. From the way it jutted out now, she could tell that he was in an ill humour. "I apologize for the delay, my lord. This is entirely my fault."

"No, no," was her father's dismissive reply. "The appearance of the darkspawn in the south has us all scrambling, doesn't it? I only received the call from the king a few days ago, myself. I'll send my eldest off with my men. You and I will ride tomorrow, just like the old days."

"True," Howe drawled, "though we both had less grey in our hair then. And we fought _Orlesians_, not…monsters."

Her father was laughing. "At least the smell will be the same." He caught sight of her. "I'm sorry, pup, I didn't see you there. Howe – you remember my daughter?"

Although it had been years since she had been forced into the man's company, considering how many times she had been publicly reprimanded by her parents for her tendency to insult him, whether intentionally or not, she knew it was not likely he could have forgotten her. At least the judgemental way he looked down at her told her that much. As tempting as it was to bait the old curmudgeon, her father had asked her not to. She could at least make the effort.

"I see she's become a lovely young woman," he said with effort. "Pleased to see you again, my dear."

"And you, Arl Howe," she replied, equally as stiff.

"My son Thomas asked after you," he supplied conversationally. "Perhaps I should bring him with me next time."

She made use of whatever control she had gained over the years not the shudder. Thomas was thirteen, and every bit as smarmy as his father. Unease that such a thing could be the reason she had been sent for filled her. With a brief glance at her father, she managed to reply coolly, "To what end?"

"'To what end' she says," Howe snorted, but there was no warmth in his eyes as they narrowed. "So glib, too. She's just like her mother when she talks like that."

The Teryn appeared to sense the dangerous waters his old friend was entering, whether by the clenching of her jaw or balling of her fists, Elissa didn't know. He hurriedly cut short her brewing comment by joking, "See what I contend with, Howe? There's no telling my fierce girl anything these days, Maker bless her heart."

Howe murmured in assent, his eyes roving over her once again and taking in the leather armour she had been training in and her dishevelled appearance. "No doubt because you've trained her as a warrior. How…unique."

This was a common criticism and one which the Teryn had no difficulty deflecting. He addressed Elissa as though he hadn't noticed what his old friend had said. "At any rate, pup, I summoned you for a reason. While your brother and I are both away, I am leaving you in charge of the castle."

For a moment, she was unsure she had heard him correctly, and briefly enjoyed relief that the matter had nothing to do with an arranged marriage – and then the reality of what he had said set in. She couldn't stop herself from crying out, "What? Why can't I go into battle with you and Fergus?"

Her father sighed, obviously having expected this reaction. "I'm certain you'd more than prove yourself, but I'm not willing to deal with your mother if you join the war. She'd kill me if I let you go. She's already twisted into knots about Fergus and I going."

"That's not fair!" Elissa protested, aware that she sounded more like a child than a warrior at the moment. "I want to fight!"

"You'll have your chance soon enough," her father soothed. "This is no needless task – I ask you to take a great responsibility. Only a token force is remaining here, and you must keep peace in the region. You know what they say about mice when the cat is away, yes?" Elissa didn't reply, trying to think up another argument. Beside them, Arl Howe looked like he was enjoying himself. "There's also someone you must meet.." Her father motioned to one of the soldiers guarding the hall. "Please, show Duncan in."

"Father –"

"I had hoped to introduce you to him sooner, but you had not yet returned from Denerim," he continued. There was a twinkle in his eye. "And you were so upset about having missed the tournament here that I didn't think it right to mention you had missed meeting the guest of honour as well."

The soldier returned, a stranger in tow, and any protestations she had thought to make died on her lips at the sight of him.

What a stranger!

The man towered easily over her father and Arl Howe, and his colouring was dark, like the Rivaini from the north, and yet the robes he wore under his armour had the colour and style of an Orlesian man of high status. Perhaps that was what made Arl Howe's lip curl, she thought as she considered the newcomer more closely. He was too well-armed to be a simple visitor, a fact in and of itself which would have put her on her guard. He had a longsword and a wicked-looking dagger strapped to his back. And his armour, despite being clean and well-made, sported enough nicks and dents that Elissa could tell he spent a good part of his time in battle. His features appeared chiselled from stone, and his entire demeanour gave off hardness that she instinctively felt that she had to defend herself from.

This man was a true warrior.

"It is an honour to be a guest within your hall, Teryn Cousland," the man said, his voice deep and rich. She also noticed the barest hint of Orlais in his speech, as though he had spent enough time in Ferelden that it had been hidden away. Few people would notice it, but Elissa had an ear for languages and accents. She noticed him watching her and met his gaze brazenly, only to find she was unable to look away. There was warmth in his eyes, and a resoluteness that she supposed could inspire confidence – but somewhere, behind all that, there was darkness…

"Your lordship – you didn't mention that a Grey Warden would be present," Howe commented archly.

"Duncan arrived just recently," her father told his friends dismissively. "Is there a problem?"

"Of course not," she forced herself free of Duncan's gaze with a shiver, concentrating on the false note in Howe's voice as he continued, "but a guest of this stature demands certain protocol. I am…at a disadvantage."

"We rarely have the pleasure of seeing one in person, that's true," her father granted, and then addressed her. "Pup – Brother Aldous taught you who the Grey Wardens are, I hope?"

She had to take a moment to reflect, having been caught off guard by the stranger. The memory of long hours listening to her tutor drone on about the history of the Couslands and of Ferelden seemed to bleed together. One thing she knew though, regardless of what she had read in the histories, based only on the stranger before her. "They're an order of great warriors."

"They are the heroes of legend," her father elaborated approvingly, "who ended the Blights and saved us all. Duncan is looking for recruits before joining us and his fellow Wardens himself." Elissa's heart leapt at a sudden hope, but it was dashed moments later when he continued, "I believe he's got his eye on Ser Gilmore."

Frustration and disappointment filled her, and Elissa had to fight back the very childish impulse to cry and stamp her foot as she had when she was younger. Of course the Wardens would be interested in Ser Gilmore; he was the well-known talent in Highever. He had been one of the boys she had trained with growing up and was now known throughout the Bannorn for his skill with a sword. She had only ever beaten him once, and that was because he had elected to favour his left hand instead of his right.

Duncan was watching her. She tried to think up something encouraging to say about Ser Gilmore, but finding it impossible, opted for silence. To her surprise, she noticed a bit of a smile beneath his beard as he said, "If I might be so bold, I would suggest that your daughter is also an excellent candidate. Her distinctive situation is known in Cailan's inner circle, and since I arrived here, I have heard several of the knights praise her skill and her potential…if not her temper."

This was not what she had expected the Grey Warden to say, and for a moment surprise froze her tongue, allowing her father to interject before she could reply. "Honour though that might be, this _is_ my daughter we're talking about."

"I don't know, Father," Elissa pretended to muse, stalling as she rapidly tried to remember everything she could about the order of Grey Wardens. If any order would allow her to join the battle without criticism, it would be them. "I think I rather like the idea."

'Or at least would like to know more,' she added silently, considering Duncan in a new light. Was he perhaps the key to escaping the unwanted expectations of her station?

"You would," her father murmured in an aside that only she could hear, and then louder, with an edge of warning directed at his guest, "I've not so many children that I'd gladly see them all off to battle. Unless you intend to invoke the Right of Conscription?"

Once again Duncan met her gaze. But he did not hold it as he had before, this time answering in a pleasant manner, "Have no fear. While we need as many good recruits as we can find, I've no intention of forcing the issue."

Elissa opened her mouth to object, but her father headed her off.

"Pup – can you ensure that Duncan's requests are seen to while I'm gone?"

"Don't strain my abilities or anything," she returned sourly.

"And don't strain my patience," he warned. "Go find Fergus and tell him to lead the troops to Ostagar ahead of me."

"Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Of course not," her father sounded impatient. "But we must discuss the battle plans in the south. Now be a good lass and do as I've asked. We'll talk soon."

Unwilling to be dismissed, Elissa desperately blurted out, "Is sending all our forces south a good idea?"

"When the king demands it," her father replied, a note of strain present behind his usually calm voice. "In fact, not sending our forces south would be a distinctly bad idea." His expression softened. "Don't worry, pup, you shouldn't see many problems. But I want you to prepare the men left here – in case."

She narrowed her eyes. "In case of what?"

"Legends of the Blight tell of horrible things. These darkspawn once threatened many lands. If we can't hold them, you must prepare for the worst."

"See – this is why I should go with you!" she insisted. "Any able hand with a sword is someone who can halt the invasion so that it doesn't come to defending our last strongholds."

But her father only laughed. "Stubborn as always. Don't you see? This is why it's so important that you stay."

Elissa clamped her mouth shut, desperately trying to think of another argument. Duncan and Howe were watching the interchange with an air of calculation, although where Duncan's gaze conveyed mild interest, Howe's was filled with impatience.

She felt her eyes narrow slightly.

For all that her father trusted him, Elissa's love of old stories had afforded her a considerable understanding and appreciation of history – the same history which suggested that relations between the Couslands and the Howes had been anything but cordial prior to the battle of White River. During the rebellion against Orlais, Howe's father had sided with the occupiers and would have handed victory to Meghran the Pretender, had Elissa's grandfather not seized the Howe centre of Harper's Ford and had Tarleton Howe hanged. His son Rendon escaped a similar fate because of his well-known hatred for the Orlesians, which had been enough to have him join the rebellion. Despite the latter's anti-Orlesian sentiments and the current solid friendship between himself and Bryce Cousland, there was a palpable tension between the two families that Elissa had been uncomfortably aware of growing up. Arl Howe's oldest son, Nathaniel, had always treated her with grudging respect, as though his mother had coached him in how to speak to her. Despite the simpering complements Delilah paid her in public, and Thomas's professed interest in her, the other Howe children were never able to completely erase the resentment in their eyes. It was the same emotion currently reflected in the Arl's gaze.

She frowned at him. "I trust the delay with your men is nothing serious?"

"Their progress is slow, but it's nothing you need worry about," he replied airily, but she could almost hear the unspoken continuation of that thought. 'It's not a woman's business.'

She jutted her chin out at him. "You told my father the delay was your fault."

Howe shrugged. "If I had reinforced our border levies earlier, my troops could have left before the rains. I confess, my confidence in your father allowed me some complacency. I guess that makes it as much his fault."

"Convenient."

"Pup," Teryn Bryce ground out in warning, and she forced a worried smile onto her face.

"I simply want to make sure you'll be all right."

"Your brother and I go into battle, not an afternoon tea," he said heavily. "Who knows what will happen to us? I will tell you, however, that you are my darling daughter. I love you, and I trust you completely to carry on the Cousland name if the worst should happen. But don't worry about me, dear girl; you'll have enough to occupy your time while I'm gone. Now let us not speak of ominous things – we shall assume that all will go well and the Maker will watch over us. Now, will you go find Fergus?"

"Yes, Father," she mumbled as Howe claimed his attention again.

Elissa shifted her weight back and forth for a moment, trying to think of a way to fight the blatant dismissal. Another, more desperate thought presented itself, and she whirled around to face the Grey Warden. "Ser…"

"I'm sorry," he told her quietly, "but I believe your father wishes to talk to the Arl and myself alone."

He sounded genuinely regretful that he couldn't speak to her, and she jumped on the situation. "I was hoping to ask you a quick question or two."

His eyes crinkled in amusement, and after a covert glance at her father, he nodded. "Very well. I doubt your father would mind a slight delay."

"Are there really darkspawn in the south?" she asked eagerly.

"Indeed," he answered gravely. "We spotted a horde assembled in the Korcari Wilds not three weeks ago. Luckily King Cailan took us at our word and marshalled his forces quickly. The first battles have already been fought. Your father and I must move quickly.

"How many are there?"

"Thousands. Perhaps ten thousand or more ensconced in the Deep Roads. It bodes ill that so many risked the surface."

"How much danger are Fergus and my father really in?" she blurted the question before she realized how much it betrayed her worry. She leaned back on her heels and crossed her arms, trying to suggest by her posture that she was simply curious.

This did not escape Duncan's notice, but even his response appeared evasive. "Well, I understand the first battles have gone easily."

"Indeed?" Howe had apparently finished speaking to her father, because he moved over between Elissa and Duncan and was sizing up the Grey Warden with the same annoyed expression he usually reserved for her. "Are the Grey Wardens sure this is a Blight, then, and not simply some large darkspawn raid?"

"No Archdemon has been sighted yet, my lord," Duncan admitted, "but by my entire soul I believe this is a Blight."

Howe was unimpressed. "I wish we shared your faith. I suppose we shall see for ourselves once we arrive at the king's camp."

"Come, friends," her father interrupted, a steely note in his voice which brooked no argument. "We have tactics to discuss, and you, daughter, have a job to do, no?"

"Yes, Father."

She allowed one of the guards to hold the heavy doors open for her, and the sound of her father's audience retreated as the door closed behind her, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

If what her father, Arl Howe and the Grey Warden said was true, the upcoming battle was not as worrisome as what rumours and gossip were making it out to be. And if that was the case, there was no cause for her to remain at home the way her father seemed intent for her to do.

She paced thoughtfully on the spot.

Her father's biggest argument against her going was her mother's objections to it. If she could somehow convince Teryna Eleanor that there was nothing to worry about, perhaps her mother would let her go with her father and brother, allow her to contribute the defending her lands – and she could keep an eye on Arl Howe, who she didn't trust despite his so called allegiances to her father. If by chance the Grey Warden got to see her fighting in action, perhaps after they defeated the darkspawn he would come looking for her again. Perhaps he would recruit her, and then she would never have to worry about the cage of an arranged marriage or the boredom of running the affairs of the estate.

She turned on her heel, intent on finding her mother to make her argument.

She would be at Ostagar, if it was the last thing she did.

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

Many heartfelt thanks to Cobar713 for taking the time to edit this fic, even if it meant castigating me about run-own sentences and proper names.

A lot of work is going into the writing of this, so any reviews would not only be appreciated but very helpful.


	2. Chapter Two

**_Battle Maiden_**  
>by ErtheChilde<p>

**_"My father once told me that adventure is just someone else knee-deep in shite far from home. Maker, but I wish I had listened to him."_**

* * *

><p><em>Note: This chapter uses dialogue directly from the game. No infringement is meant, simply a means to frame the situations and plot for the characters. I will try to keep direct game dialogue to a minimum, except where it is needed.<em>

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Two:<em>

Elissa paced nervously up and down the stone hallway leading to the atrium, trying to organize her thoughts. She could hear the low timbre of conversation coming from further up the passage, but could not make out the words. Her mother's clipped tones seemed the most distinct, but gave no clue to the general humour of the Teryna.

'Which makes this all the harder,' she thought grimly. Despite always listening to Elissa's requests and arguments in full, her mother's responses often depended greatly on her mood. 'If she's still sore about the business with the accounts today, I might as well not even broach the subject. But if I don't ask, I'll never have chance of changing Father's mind.'

She hesitated as another thought occurred to her.

The Grey Warden had said that she was a likely candidate, but he had not seen her actual skill. There would be ample time to show him if he were remaining at Highever, as her father had intimated.

'Perhaps I can even get him to convince Mother,' she thought excitedly. 'The man battles darkspawn as a livelihood. Certainly bearding the lioness in her den –' The Teryna had been known to verbally shred many a hapless courtier when provoked, '– would be well within his capabilities.'

Doubt followed up that line of thinking. Joining the Wardens would be an honour, but from what little she knew from the old legends, it also came with a price. She would have to renounce her name and any claim to Highever that her mother had fought for. While the latter meant nothing to her, she felt a distinct reluctance at the thought of giving up her heritage and home.

Becoming a Grey Warden would mean replacing her family with a bunch of strangers. Worst of all was the possibility of never returning to see her parents, or Fergus or little Oren. The Wardens were sent where they were needed. Although they were scarce enough in Ferelden that there was the possibility of remaining there, there was a greater likelihood of being stationed where darkspawn were more common. While she desperately craved adventure and the chance to see more of the world, she wanted to have to option to come home from it as well. The idea of never again smelling the salt air off the Waking Sea, or missing the tales told by old sailors down by the docks caused a sickening pain within her. Whenever she contemplated such a thing she hurriedly thought of something else to ward it off.

'I'm putting too much thought into this,' she decided, mentally shaking herself. 'The problem at hand is finding a way onto the battlefield, not planning for a future I'm not even completely sure of I want."

Something bore down on firmly on her left shoulder. Surprised, she reacted without thinking.

Grabbing hold with her left hand, she reached around her body with her right and gripped the weight. With a grunt of effort, she rounded her back and shoulders into the curve of her attacker's body and pulled, drawing him over her left hip and shoulder. There was a clatter, and a muffled 'oohmph!' as she stepped forward, her hands still clenched along her attacker's arm, and pushed her foot down roughly on the juncture between his shoulder and chest.

A moment later, her eyes widened as she realized who she had pinned to the stone. She jumped back with a cry.

"Andraste's knickers! Roderick! I'm so sorry!"

"It's alright," he gasped as she relinquished her grip on him and rushed to help him up. "I should have announced myself."

"Why didn't you stop me?" she asked, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks. "You could have, easily."

"Er, surprise, mostly," he admitted with a weak smile, rolling his shoulder experimentally. "You looked so deep in thought, I honestly didn't expect you to up and attack me." Sheepishly, he ran a hand through his wavy red hair. "Ser Aedan's tutelage appears to paying off, anyhow."

"Actually, that particular move I learned from my mother."

Roderick opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Finally, he said, "That doesn't surprise me as much as it should."

Elissa grinned at him. The Teryna's hardiness was legendary, even among the common soldiers like Roderick Gilmore, but they didn't know the half of it. When Elissa had first started her training with the pages, her age-mates had not been especially overjoyed at the prospect of a girl joining their drills. They would wait until their instructors were otherwise occupied, then play tricks and beat up on her. When she grew tired of the harassment, she had cornered her mother in the study and complained. Lady Eleanor had reacted with a surprisingly cool reception.

"If you're seeking preferential treatment, you may as well give up now," the Teryna had told her. "People will not simply pander to you when you are older, so do not expect it now, even among that rabble of boys. The more you complain about their treatment of you, the more they will do it. They will convince themselves that you are weak and strive to chase you off." Her mother looked fierce. "If you truly wish to be taken seriously by your comrades, learn the rules of their game. And then beat them at it. Show them you're not just some noble girl playing dress-up."

"How?" Elissa had asked, fighting back tears.

"In West Hill, every woman needed to know how to defend herself lest brigands breach the keep," her mother told her, putting aside her writing implements and standing up. "But with the exception of myself and some of the soldiers, not every woman had access to a weapon. They developed various strategies to dissuade an attacker. I can teach you some of those methods – but you will have to deal with the boys' tricks and their dislike of you on your own."

She never complained about ill-treatment again. Although she began to fight back when picked on, it took months before she was able to use any of the Teryna's teachings effectively. Even then, she lost four out of five fights with the boys, especially when they ganged up on her. The only benefit was that the boys now thought twice before tangling with her. By the time her first year of training was up, she won more than half of the fights she got in, both in training and outside of it. By the second year, the boys resigned themselves to her presence and by the third, she was considered one of the group. Since then, it was rare that she had to use her mother's teachings to put her comrades in their places, but on the off chance that she did, she practiced them every morning.

'Unfortunately for poor Roderick,' she thought with grim humour.

Roderick was the younger son of one the teryn's vassals and had only recently been knighted. He was one of the pages that she had grown up with and had squired for Fergus while the latter went on a progress of the terynir some months earlier. He was a natural with a sword, which explained the Grey Warden's interest in him, and relentlessly loyal. Fergus had told them upon his return that Roderick had saved his life, taking a rogue's arrow in the chest. The incident had nearly killed him, but luckily there had been a mage healer nearby.

By now, he had recovered from his brief encounter with the floor and drew himself up properly. He bowed his head to her and said, "Forgive me, my lady."

"For what?" she laughed. "I'm the one who assailed you."

"It was improper of me to take hold of you," he told her primly. "But when you didn't answer my call, I thought you might be upset, or...or something."

"I was thinking on family matters. I didn't even hear you," she replied, raising an eyebrow. Roderick was not known for his directness, and by the furtive expression on his face, he wanted to ask her something. "Was there something you needed from me?"

He looked suddenly uncertain. "Your mother told me the teryn had summoned you, and so I didn't want to interrupt..."

"Out with it," she ordered in the best imitation of her mother, although she knew that the smirk on her face probably ruined the effect.

"I've heard from several people that a Grey Warden is here," he told her hesitantly. "Is that true?"

"Yes, it is," she answered, wary.

"Then is it also true that this Grey Warden was asking after me?"

She forced herself to keep a level voice, free of her own jealousy. "Yes, he was."

Roderick's face split into an amazed smile that pained her just to see. "Can you imagine? Me? A Grey Warden? It will be everything I ever dreamed of!" Something must have showed in her expression, because he sobered immediately and added, "Of course, I shouldn't get ahead of myself. Pardon my outburst."

"No, it's fine," she sighed. "It just seems as if everyone in Highever is marching off to battle, and I must stay here."

"What?" he gaped. "I thought for sure your father would bring you along – or your brother at the very least."

"That's what he wanted to see me about. To tell me that I am to stay here and run the castle."

"Oh. Well...that's not exactly a job to sniff at," he told her, trying to sound upbeat. "I'm sure you'll have a chance. People are saying the darkspawn will be defeated soon enough, anyhow. Maybe he wants you to train more before allowing you into battle."

"I somehow don't believe that's the case," she replied darkly. "Anyhow, I'm going to find Mother and see if I can't talk her around."

"Before you do that, my lady, I would suggest running down to the kitchens quickly," he told her. "I fear your hound has the kitchens in an uproar once again. Nanny's threatening to leave."

"Nan's just blowing off steam," Elissa shrugged, who was used to her old nursemaid's daily avowals that she was quitting. "She's always been like that."

"Your mother disagrees. She insists you collect the dog and quickly. You know these mabari hounds. He'll listen to his mistress, but anyone else risks having an arm bitten off."

She snorted. "Garm knows better than to hurt anyone."

"Yes, well, I'm not willing to test that. Your mother would have me accompany you until the matter is settled."

"I don't need you to help me get my dog in hand," Elissa replied.

"Your mother was quite insistent. And I fear her more than you."

"Understandable," she sighed, "if not annoying." She smirked at him. "Tell me, Ser Gilmore, how are you to become a Grey Warden if an old woman still strikes fear into your heart?"

"If the old legends have taught me anything, it's to placate an old woman when you can, because you never know when she might turn you into a toad," Roderick answered earnestly. "Not that I'm suggesting your mother would turn me into a toad – in fact, being turned into a toad might be a kindness next to what she might do to me if she were angry enough – but the point remains the same."

"You're babbling," she informed him candidly. At his shrug, she rolled her eyes and pushed him off toward the kitchens. "Alright, good ser, let's be off to the kitchens then. You can fulfill your knightly oath by protecting stubborn damsels in distress, reining in naughty hounds and – I don't know, slaughtering vicious, man-eating rats."

(-)

"I was only joking about the rats," Elissa grumbled as she lugged a large sack filled with the corpses of the disgusting creatures. Instead of thanking her and Roderick for killing the beasts that had caused her mabari to take up residence in the larder, Nan had gone on a long-winded rant about how she would lose her position if the Teryna found out that rats had been into the larder and spoiled the dinner. She had only stopped shrieking when Elissa promised to remove the offending creatures from her sight; Roderick had made a convenient escape before she could include him in the task. She had had to drag the filthy sacks out through the servants entrance and carry them far enough away that any wild animals that came sniffing for their odour wouldn't bother any of the servants. 'Serves me right, I suppose, but still. It's not exactly a task filled to the brim with honour and glory, is it?"

Garm sniffed loudly at her from where he sat on the stone steps of the secret entrance, as if to say he agreed completely.

Elissa laughed at this and patted him around his tiny ears. Garm would never win a contest of beauty, but she was sure that he was smarter than most learned men and more capable than most warriors. Part of this she attributed to his being raised within the castle walls by her and not in the kennels with the rest of the estate's hunting dogs, or back with the mabari breeders at the edge of the terynir.

It had been five years ago that she had accompanied her father on an inspection of the kennels where most of the kingdom's mabaris, with the exception of King Cailan's most prized beasts, were bred. A particularly impressive bitch had just given birth to a litter of six puppies, five of which were already showing signs of the killer instinct needed in the breed. The sixth, however, was skinnier than the others and appeared afraid of its own shadow. It whined pitifully in the corner of the kennel enclosure while its brothers and sisters crowded around the fence where Elissa crouched, barking at her warily.

"I was hoping he'd grow out of it," the dog's caregiver admitted to the Teryn when he and Elissa stopped to assess the property. "But he hasn't, and right now he's just another useless mouth to feed. The others have taken to attacking him too. I'm surprised they haven't killed him off yet. If they don't do it soon, I'll have to take him out and drown him."

"Oh, no!" Elissa cried, looking up from the rabble of pups. "Surely he just needs a little more care – maybe he just needs someone to make sure he's eating and to exercise him a bit."

"That's more time than we have to invest," the man said gruffly, and then rolled his eyes at the Teryn as though to say a boy would have understood this. "You'll soon learn, my lady, that some things are lost causes."

"He doesn't look like a lost cause to me," she replied reproachfully. "If you take such a half-hazard approach to your dogs, you're not a very good master."

The man had sputtered. "There's more to my job than running around after every mutt that wants to be waited on. These are war dogs, not like the lapdogs you'll see at court."

"Then you should do your job and train your dogs. And training includes trying to coax whatever amount of talent you can out of them. Have you ever taken him from the others to see if he did better that way?"

The man opened his mouth, and then closed it, glowering at her rapidly. Finally he ground out, "As I said, my lady, we do not have that much time to invest, especially when this breed is in such high demand by Ferelden's border forces."

"An excuse," Elissa grumbled under her breath.

"If you are so sure you know better than I in this matter," the man bowed mockingly, "perhaps you would like to try your hand at his rearing?"

It had been meant as a jeer, a slight to her abilities, but Elissa's eyes had widened at the sudden suggestion, and she looked at her father expectantly. The Teryn had been watching the interchange with an amused smile, but now this had become rather forced as he realized the idea she was now entertaining. "Father? Can I?"

He had looked uncomfortable, no doubt wondering what her mother would say, and then considered Elissa carefully. "You realize that it is a large responsibility to take care of another life, yes? You won't even pitch in when Oriana needs help with Oren."

She was known for disappearing whenever help was needed to see to Fergus' toddling son.

"Babies are useless, all they do is cry and wet themselves," Elissa stated immediately. "You can train a dog faster than an infant."

"Dogs are a labour in and of themselves," the Teryn warned. "If you decide to do this, you'll have no help from myself or your brother – and I won't have any of the servants seeing to his care either. If you decide to take responsibility for the pup, it will be on your head and no other. It will be you I'll send for when he's chewing on the tapestries or relieving himself in the hallways."

But Elissa had come to the decision already, driven by the mocking curl of the kennel-master's lips. She would succeed at this or die trying, she decided, nodding to her father. "I promise, Father. I can do this."

" All right" the Teryn had sighed, and then smiled at the kennel-master with a resigned air. "What can I say, Stefan? It seems my daughter is set on this. I'd rather it be the dog than insisting she learn to joust – "

" – Father, you know I can ride just as well as – "

"Peace, daughter," the Teryn warned, and pressed a small purse into the kennel master's hand. "I'll not leave you one dog short, whatever you had intended to do with him. See that this litter does well, yes? The king will be sending a group of new Ash Warriors to collect them within a few weeks."

"O-of course, your lordship," the man nodded, bowing his head in thanks. "I'll get the beast, if you – my lady, be careful! You shouldn't go into the enclosure, the others are not so welcoming as –!"

"I'll be fine," Elissa had replied, already climbing over the fence.

She had been glad that she had worn the tunic and breeches that she trained it, because a dress would have been too much of a temptation for a group of rambunctious puppies. As soon as her boots touched the ground, she had five barking mabari pups surrounding her, nipping at her legs and clothes. Two of them bounced up and down, trying to bite at her.

"You'll behave!" she ordered, rapping several snouts quickly but with enough force that they thought twice about going for her. A year of training with a sword had taught her exactly how much weight to put behind a tap to vary it for discipline or for worse.

She strode across the enclosure toward the runt, and with barely a thought picked him up. He was about the size of an adult cat, still able to fit in her arms, but all paws and snout. There were several bruises and teeth marks from where the kennel-master said he had been bitten by the others. The puppy growled at her half-heartedly, trying to imitate his siblings and snap at her with his teeth. She held him out of reach with one hand and grasped his snout with the other. "No. I'll not have any of that, pup."

The little creature continued to growl and fight against her hand, but she held it tight and stared into his eyes. It was a tactic that Nan had always used to make her submit to a punishment or order, and it seemed to work. It seemed natural enough to use on the dog.

The puppy's protests faded and abruptly stopped, and for a moment it simply considered her. The other barking, snapping dogs went unnoticed, as though it was trying to decide what to make of her.

"I'm your mistress," she told him. "And if you're good, I'll train you to be the best warrior dog in all of Ferelden."

It made a whirring sound and she felt his short tail wag feebly.

"Glad we've settled that," she told him confidently. "Now let's go home and I'll bully Nan into fattening you up a bit."

He let out a strangled bark, as though not accustomed to making much noise.

She had climbed back out of the enclosure, her boots covered in droppings and dog slobber, but with the pup firmly nestled in the crook of her arm. She looked at her father expectantly. "Shall we move on then, Father?"

He had laughed, partially at her directness and partially because of the look of stunned disbelief on the kennel-master's face, and nodded. "Well, come on then."

As they returned to the carriage, he considered her affectionately. "Very impressive discipline skills, my dear. And here I had believed none of it had sunk in." His eyes twinkled. "I hope you don't intend to rescue every downtrodden creature you ever happen across, though. Your room will become quite full, I think."

"Fergus and Oriana can sleep in the larder," Elissa replied with a toss of her hair, climbing into the carriage with the pup. Once the door closed behind her father, she put the pup down on the floor. He started to sniff around warily. "And Oren too – although, perhaps if we raise him with the dog, then they'll both learn obedience."

The Teryn laughed. "It would certainly muffle the crying, I suppose."

"Father, if I train him up well enough, can I come on hunts with you and Fergus?" Elissa asked brightly as the idea occurred to her. "He'd be useful, in case you run into a band of thieves or –"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," her father warned. "We've yet to inform your mother about the new mouth we've just inherited. Pace yourself and choose your battles."

"We could always put Mother in the larder," Elissa mused thoughtfully, reaching down to scratch the pup between the eyes.

Her father made a noise that might have been a laugh, but recovered himself just as quickly.

"I'll not have any of that, pup," he scolded, purposefully repeating her words back to her, and she grinned. "You'll respect your mother – and if she decides the animal stays out in the yard, you'll abide by it."

"Yes, Father."

Her father had called her 'pup' ever since that day, and even though the Teryna had not been so open to the mabari in her house, she too had adopted the nickname over time. Elissa had asked why, once.

"You're two sides to the same coin," her father confided in her. "He meets every challenge you give to him, I've seen it. I don't even think King Cailan's trainers put their dogs through the paces you put that mutt through – and the little brute enjoys every minute of it, too. Not unlike a certain daughter I have."

He wasn't exaggerating, either. As hard as Elissa exercised with a sword, she gave as much dedication to training the puppy. Every evening, despite being sweat soaked and tired from working with her sword, she would dedicate to the dog, first training him to obey casual commands, then gradually teaching him to follow orders to attack and desist. She made makeshift obstacle courses in the courtyard, running through the paces with the dog and setting up straw-men similar to those she practiced her sword-work with, teaching him what parts of an attacker's body to aim for. She devoured every book she could find on the subject of mabari hounds, rereading the old tomes so many times that her fingers permanently smudged the ink on the vellum. And her father was right – the pup thrived on the activity now that it was no longer lost amid the enthusiasm of his siblings.

"It's rather like you." Her father ruffled her hair affectionately. "I've seen you, with the squires and your brother when he visits. No matter what exercise they give you – no matter how menial or challenging, you take it with no complaints. And even when you don't succeed right away, you persevere until you've manage it. It's an admirable quality." Garm had sidled forward and whined at the teryn, who added, "In both of you."

At night, the dog slept by her bed, and she'd fall asleep talking to him, telling him anything, from what she had done that day to reciting her favourite old legends. She knew he could understand her – Garm had a special taste for the tale of Haelia Cousland and the werewolves. She supposed it was odd for a girl of her station to put so much in store by a warhound, but Garm was the closest thing to a confidant that she had. Her age-mates were good chums, but that was as far as it went. As for the "friendships" her parents had encouraged her to pursue with other daughters of the nobility, those amounted to little more than very polite acquaintanceships.

"If they were less like Delilah Howe or Habren Bryland, I'm sure that would be different," she told Garm conversationally as they started back up the steps to the larder. The mabari growled at the latter's name. "Yes, I feel the same way. Can you imagine how terrible it would have been if Mother and Father hadn't managed to get Fergus out of that contract to marry her? I know I complain about Oriana a lot, but truth be told, I'd prefer her to that horrid little beast. I can just see her, lording over everyone as Lady Cousland and bankrupting the terynir to keep her closet stocked with the latest fashions from Orlais."

Nan and the elven servants were occupied when she returned, and so she slipped out of the kitchens. The chimes from the bell-tower indicated that it was nearly dinner, and she decided she would have to tackle her mother soon. The sun had begun to set, and if Fergus was to have as much of a head start as he needed, he would need to leave before dark. Hopefully she could convince her mother to allow her to go with him or their father quickly.

The Teryna was in the atrium entertaining guests. As usual she gave off an aura of stateliness that Elissa believed would identify her as a noble even if she were wearing the rags of a wilder. Her long hair was thick, like Elissa's, but iron-gray in colour and pulled back into two severe coils at the back of her neck. Even from where she stood, Elissa could see her green eyes considering her guests hawkishly, despite the relaxed expression on her pointed face. The Teryna's guests were ones whom Elissa recognized. Lady Landra was one of her mother's friends and the husband of one of her father's vassals, Bann Loren. She was known for being a terrible gossip and had never met a drink she didn't like. A gaunt woman with long greying hair and amber eyes that sparked shrewdly, she had always treated Elissa with pandering kindness that bordered on sycophancy. And the reason for that was standing right next to her.

Dairren was well-groomed as usual, giving off that utterly cared-for air that made Elissa want to ask him if his mother had picked out his clothing for him that morning, or if he had finally learned to do it himself. The garments were silken, of such a vibrant orange that they clashed with his curly red hair and put her in mind of a burning pyre. Lady Landra's son was a few years older than Elissa, well-mannered, only just passable with a blade and duller than blank vellum. The first time they had met at the Satinalia festival held in Amaranthine three years before, he had talked her ear off about the origins of the holiday and then gone on to describe ancient Tevinter social policy. Her parents hadn't intervened, thinking she was enjoying conversation with a well-born young man, and she had been forced to spend three hours nodding blankly at whatever he said.

Lady Landra was accompanied by a young woman who couldn't have been very many years older than Elissa. And elf, judging from her size, although it was hard to tell; her hair hid her ears and she was dressed in finer fabrics than would be accorded a minor servant. She was the first to notice Elissa, her gaze darting back and forth between her and the Teryna.

"...and my dear Bryce brought this back from Orlais last year," her mother was saying. "The marquis who gave it to him was drunk, I understand, and mistook Bryce for the king." Her audience laughed politely. Elissa rolled her eyes, having heard this story several times over the course of her stay in Denerim. It was the Teryna's favourite way of subtly reminding people of the status of Highever.

After the Orlesian occupation, there had understandably been bad blood between Ferelden and the Empire. King Cailan, in an effort to ensure that the already sour relations between the two countries did not escalate into another war, had appointed her father to act as ambassador in the court of the Empress. From what Elissa understood, he had been given the task of opening peaceful dialogue between them, first in terms of minor matters such as trade and border skirmishes, but later in eliciting agreements for military support in case Ferelden was ever under attack. Such an important position should have fallen to the king's right-hand-man; however Teryn Mac Tir's open hatred of the Orlesians had made it imperative that a less biased individual be given the task. Elissa's father had spent almost a year in the Empress's court smoothing relations, and he had brought back many stories and gifts, including a particularly opulent sapphire that he had given his wife.

Sure enough, the Teryna was showing off the gem which had been set in a necklace that she wore. When she saw Elissa, she settled it back at her throat and smiled wryly at her in welcome. "Ah, here is my lovely daughter. I take it by the presence of that troublesome hound of yours that the situation in the kitchen is handled?"

Garm barked, and Elissa couldn't help answering glibly in defence of her hound. "Nan's head exploded and my hound ate the kitchen staff."

"Well, at least one of us will have a decent dinner," the Teryna pursed her lips and frowned at the dog. "Perhaps you left something I can feed my guests?"

He whined.

Her mother sighed and turned her attention back to Elissa. "Darling, do you remember Lady Landra, Bann Loren's wife?"

"I think we last met at your mother's spring salon," the woman told her coyly.

Elissa remembered it. The same day her father had taken some of the minor banns and arls hunting. She had looked forward to going, only to discover that her mother had decided she was going to attend the salon. She had spent the entire affair glowering in a corner, outfitted in some ridiculous silk gown fending off conversation attempts from the various eligible bachelors who had attended the same function. Dairren had lingered in the background, no doubt put up to it by his mother, in case one of the interested parties' attentions was actually reciprocated.

"Weren't you drunk?" she returned.

Her mother groaned. "I'm so proud of my pup's mastery of tact and diplomacy."

"Well, it was a lovely salon," Lady Landra remarked with a quiet titter. "From what little I remember."

"Which wouldn't be much, considering we had to pour you into the carriage afterwards," Dairren piped up. He smiled apologetically at Elissa. "It's good to see you again, milady. You're looking as beautiful as ever."

"Er, thank you," she muttered uncomfortably, allowing her gaze to fall upon the servant. "And I do not know your face."

"This is my lady in waiting, Iona," Lady Landra supplied. When the elfin girl simply looked at the ground and blushed prettily, she added, "Do say something, dear."

"It is a great pleasure, milady," the young woman said. "You are as pretty as your mother describes."

"And she says that after seeing you whacking stuffed men in the courtyard, sweating like a mule," the Teryna interjected.

"Your daughter's prowess with a blade is most impressive," Dairren remarked.

Elissa winced. Her mother knew how she felt about Dairren, and never ceased to find an opportunity to tease her over it. Sure enough, her mother eyed her with amusement and commented, "I was quite the battle maiden myself, in the day, but I think it was the softer arts that allowed me to land a husband."

"You are aware that we're at war?" Elissa retorted.

She knew immediately that she had said the wrong thing, because the Teryna's face became drawn.

"Aware that my husband and son are about to ride off to battle and perhaps never return?" she asked reproachfully. "Quite."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

Lady Landra cleared her throat, uncomfortable, and said, "I think perhaps I shall rest now, my dear. Dairren, I will see you and Iona at supper."

Dairren nodded, and motioned for Iona to depart as well. "Perhaps we will retire to the study for now."

"Good evening, your ladyship," Lady Landra curtseyed.

Elissa waited until the Teryna's guests had departed before she opened her mouth, but her mother cut her off.

"Absolutely not."

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"Kindly remember that I gave birth to you, my dear, I know you better than anyone," her mother retorted. "And the answer remains, 'no'."

Elissa started to argue, but her mother's mouth firmed into a line that told her not to press the matter. Elissa fought down the unfamiliar urge to burst into tears of frustration. Instead, she concentrated on the corner around which Lady Landra and her retinue had disappeared, trying to ground her thoughts.

With effort at keeping her voice from whining, she asked, "Why?"

"Because I have enough worry in my heart at the thought of my husband and son never returning, that adding the idea of losing you as well is too much," her mother told her. "Or if you would rather a practical answer, you are only sixteen years old. You are untried in battle and you've never seen true bloodshed."

"Neither have most of the conscripts in the king's army!" Elissa protested. "Most of them won't know which side of a sword to stick in one of those beasts until the first wave!"

"Just so, most of them will end up among the first casualties. Is your dream of glory and battle worth becoming a meal for the crows and rats after the fight is over?"

Elissa held back a groan of frustration, and glared down at her feet. Garm watched the interchange with a wariness born of several years' familiarity concerning Elissa's arguments with the Teryna. When he noticed her looking at him, she could have sworn his eyes expressed resignation. Elissa glowered back at her mother. "Why did you and Father even allow me to train all of these years, if you will not allow me to fight for my country and my people."

"Poetic words, daughter," her mother returned with a wry smile, "but let us not mix your true dreams of the battlefield with fealty."

"How am I ever supposed to test my skills if you never permit me to go into battle?"

"Your father and I allowed you to hone your skills so that you never would have to fight."

"But that makes no sense!"

"In the mind of a girl, no, it would not," the Teryna agreed with an oddly rueful note in her voice. "But one day you will understand the logic behind it." She sighed and reached out to clasp Elissa's shoulder affectionately. "Pup, I know you may not believe me, but I do understand what you are feeling right now. I know how hard it is to stay in the castle and watch others ride off – I had to do the same when my father and brothers rode against the Orlesians. But I also understood my duty. If you profess to want to do right by your country and your people, you must recognize the importance of having a strong hand on the home front. You must prepare for every eventuality, yes?" She smiled tentatively. "Is that not one of the first lessons you were taught?"

Elissa clenched, and the unclenched her fists. In a lower voice, she whispered, "What if they fall without me?"

"It's in the Maker's hands now," her mother sighed. "We must cope as best we can."

Elissa shook her head and pulled away from her mother. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"As do I." Her mother's answer surprised her, and she met the teryna's gaze steadily for the first time. "Your father and brother are off to fight Maker knows what. All the assurances in the world can't help me, but it wouldn't help for us to take up arms and follow. Fergus and your father have their duty and we have ours."

"Funny how our duty relegates us to remaining safely out of danger," Elissa muttered bitterly. She fixed her mother in a hard gaze. "If I were a man, would you be so adamant about my staying?"

"As adamant as I am about your father and Fergus staying, for all the good it does," Teyrna Eleanor replied reproachfully. "I know what you're driving at, pup. If you were a man I know you would be marching off with your father tomorrow. I know that is what you dream – but what I dearly wish is to have my family home and safe. And if your unhappiness running the affairs of the castle is the price I pay for your safety, I am selfish enough to make that decision." Her mother crossed her arms. "As it is, I know that having you here will be a boon to Highever. For all the shirking of your duties, you're a capable manager. No doubt you'll be able to run the castle so effectively, that by the time your father returns, his vassals will be swearing fealty to you and not him."

"I don't want to run the estate," Elissa protested, despite the uselessness of her argument. "I never wanted to hide away behind the castle walls – Mother, I want to fight! Please, why can't you and Father understand this?"

There was a pause as they regarded each other, and the Teryna finally shook her head with the air of someone giving up.

"If the battle goes badly, you will see the fighting you so crave," she finally said. "And not a second before."

Elissa stewed in silent anger for several seconds, and then decided to play her last card. In a voice of forced calm, she remarked, "Did you know there's a Grey Warden here?"

"Yes, your father mentioned that." Teryna Eleanor's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You haven't gotten it into your head that you want to be recruited?"

Elissa carefully kept her tone neutral. "The darkspawn have returned. Grey Wardens are needed."

"There's enough here at the castle to occupy you. I don't need you off chasing danger like your brother."

"He said I was as likely a candidate as Ser Gilmore. Father would probably let me go, Mother, if you would just –"

"That's the end of the discussion, daughter." Teryna Eleanor narrowed her eyes. "I will hear no more about you joining Cailan's offensive or setting yourself up to be recruited to hunt darkspawn with the Wardens. Do you understand me?"

"...Yes, Mother," she replied, although she added a silent, 'It may be the last you hear of it, but it won't be the last I think about it.' She pasted a grim smile on her face. "At least I will not be the only one left behind. Are you staying at the castle?"

"For a few days," her mother answered, sounding relieved that Elissa had dropped the matter. "Then I'll travel with Lady Landra to her estate and keep her company for a time. Your father thinks my presence here might undermine your authority."

"As you wish."

"Good," Teryna Eleanor said approvingly. "I was worried you might be nervous about running the castle on your own. I needn't have been concerned."

"Of course not, given my supposed commanding prowess," Elissa deadpanned. She inclined her head respectfully. "I should go."

Her retreat was impeded by her mother, once again reaching out for her. She brushed Elissa's stringy banks out of her face, and a look of uncharacteristic tenderness washed over her features. "I love you, my darling girl. You know that, don't you?"

Some of the tension in her shoulders ebbed, and Elissa sighed with resignation. "I love you too."

"Go do what you must, then," her mother ordered, once again becoming to polished, composed teryna of Highever. "I will see you soon."

Her mother watched her, waiting for her to retire to her chambers, and with a show of acquiescence, she started off, waving for Garm to follow, and turned the corner. Once she was out of sight, she waited, motioning for the mabari to remain quiet as she listened. She heard her mother mumble something to herself and then the sound of retreating footsteps. When Elissa peeked back around the recess, she caught the train of her mother's gown disappearing behind the corner – she was most likely off to the dining room to oversee dinner preparations.

She turned back around and motioned to the dog. "Go to my chambers, Garm, I will be along shortly."

He rumbled suspiciously.

"I'm trying to make sure we get to Ostagar," she explained in a low voice. "You'd like your chance at hunting darkspawn too, wouldn't you?" His answer was a cross between bark of enthusiasm and a growl of misgivings. "Well, whatever you want, I need you to stay in one place. If I have to haul you out of Nan's larder again, it'll go harder for both of us."

Another whine, but he loped up the hallway toward the solar. As soon as she felt enough time had passed, Elissa hurried down the wide stairs again and took off toward the southern wing of the estate.

She had much to prepare if she was going to make it to Ostagar.

While she had hoped she might convince her parents to allow her to go with their blessing, it seemed she would have to make her own luck in this respect. Something in her yearned to be there, a silent whisper that told her it was utmost importance that she be present at the battle, regardless of how she managed it. Perhaps it was just the fear that this would be her only chance – it wouldn't be long before she was talked into some political marriage. However much her parents loved her, she knew that they put their duty to Highever first. If it was in the best interest of the terynir for her to marry, they would agree to it and she would have no say. It was even more likely to happen if – when, she corrected herself immediately – her brother and father returned from Ostagar. Victory in battle was often celebrated by a renewal of old allegiances or the forging of new ones, and unfortunately, Elissa knew her place in such dealings all too well.

Her plan to avoid it was simple enough: She would gather whatever supplies she could easily hide, and then would make a show of bidding her brother goodbye later in the evening. Her father would likely be entertaining Arl Howe until the latter's men arrived at the castle and would not notice her leave her room if she slipped out through the servant's entrance. She would be gone by sun-up, and with his forces already delayed, her father would be unable to go after her. Travelling alone, she could beat them to Ostagar and establish a place for herself in the infantry if she had to. By then, even if she met up with Father and Fergus and they ordered her home, she could argue that the king's needs superseded their wish to protect her. As for the duty of remaining at Highever...

'Mother said she would be here for a few days. That will give her enough time to change her plans with Lady Landra – it's not as if the woman is pining for company with the amount of salons she holds,' she mused, and then sighed ruefully. 'Deserting the castle will not likely impress the Warden, but...if that is the price I must pay to see the front, so be it.'

Her mind made up, she turned into the library – and practically staggered to a halt. Brother Aldous, the old sage who kept the estate records in order. It was he that had monitored her education, teaching her every subject except languages, which she had learned from various tutors over the years. In addition to the King's Speech, she was fluent in Orlesian and Antivan, and had a basic smattering of Nevarran. Aldous had often moaned that she could have made an excellent scholar if her interests hadn't been geared towards combat. Right now, the old man was speaking to two of the new squires. In her enthusiastic planning, she had forgotten that he too would be remaining at Highever, and he was even less likely to appreciate her wish to leave the castle then her parents. If he suspected anything, she knew he would tell on her immediately.

She briefly considered returning later, when he was ensconced amid the shelves and not likely to hear her sneaking around, but to her dismay he looked up and waved her over. "Hello, my dear girl. What brings you to the annals on such an evening? I'm surprised you're not riling up the men and bolstering their resolve for the coming march."

"My parents have made it plain that my place is nowhere near the battle, so I've taken my leave," she lied stiffly. "I've just come searching for, uh, Sister Kriemhild's Compendium of Legend and Myth."

"Haven't you memorized it by now?" Aldous laughed.

"Only the parts about Signe the Stoic's triumph over King Vasily the Antivan – and Andraste's march on the Alamarri," she replied earnestly. "I've yet to commit the tale of the slaying of Dumat to memory."

"Your choices are telling, my dear," the old man sighed. "Not one mention of the founding of the line of Therein or the Great Charter of Ferelden...these are some of our greatest stories."

"I can never get past all of the secret alliances and ulterior motives in those tales. All that politics makes my head spin, and it turns what should be the simplest tasks into thankless, poisonous endeavours that end up corrupting more than they fix."

"You'd do well to take an interest in such matters," Aldous warned. "Whatever path you end up walking, my lady, will be dependent on such "thankless, poisonous endeavours.""

Elissa rolled her eyes, and she noticed the two squires who were standing idly by, shifting their weight impatiently as they tried to listen. "So what are you trying to teach the lads today, old man? The Code of Chivalry?"

"As luck would have it, I am beginning to teach these young squires about your family's history."

"Ugh, do we have to?" one of them blurted out, and the other added, "History's boring."

Aldous blustered beneath his whiskers, casting a nervous glance at her. "Boys! You are referring to the Couslands! The very family in whose castle you live! Show some respect!"

"It's alright, it is boring. The early stuff, anyway," Elissa winked at the boys. "Honestly, Aldous, if you wanted to torture the poor lads, you could have just brought them to Fort Drakon and clapped them in irons. It'd be a kinder fate."

They sniggered, while Aldous groaned. "I see you haven't changed. Perhaps it would benefit you to join our lesson?"

She glanced over at the clock by the historian's desk which merrily ticked away the time she had left. She still needed to speak with Fergus. "I'm sorry, Aldous, I've got some things to do for Fergus and Mother."

"Of course," the old sage nodded. "But do come back and chat with us once you're finished your duties."

She smiled falsely and hurried into the study. She would miss Aldous while she was away.

The study was not empty either, and she remembered with belated resignation that Dairren had retired here with the elven servant. Finding the materials she needed would be a slightly more difficult than she thought, given Dairren's shrewd character. And as for the young woman...She was leaning near the end of the table, idly flipping through the thick pages of one of the atlases that had been left out. When Elissa walked in, the elf's eyes flitted toward her, and then she blushed and turned away. Curious, Elissa was about to ask what was wrong, when Dairren was suddenly standing in front of her. "Hello again. So, did your mother corner you the way mine did?"

"Not exactly," she hedged, trying to think of a way to distract him as she rooted around the shelves. "You must have had a long journey, you and –" She trailed off, eyeing the elven servant again, " – Iona, was it?"

The young woman – barely older than Elissa, by her looks – blushed prettily and cast her eyes downward. "Yes, my lady."

"Right. You and Iona. Why don't you retire to your rooms and freshen up for dinner? That's one less thing for your mother to find fault with, right?"

"I couldn't. All I did on the carriage ride here was sleep," Dairren replied. "It was either that or listen to Mother gossip over all of the scandals going on at the court this season. Unlike Iona, I'm not paid to listen to that, and so I didn't." He smirked, obviously pleased with himself, but at her look of disinterest, he cleared his throat and gestured around at the anteroom. "Your study is wonderful. Might I ask whose collection this is?"

"It was my grandfather's," she answered, strolling casually toward the bookcase and considering it. She made a mental note of the titles that she was looking for, and then reached for Sister Kriemhild's book; beside it was a rather useful pamphlet on health draughts and poisons, and she surreptitiously slipped it out along with the large tome, "but I come here often to read."

"So would I. Do you have a favourite book?"

"The Dragons of Tevinter by Brother Timious," she answered immediately, reading one of the first titles that jumped out at her. She snuck another leaflet about setting injuries out as well.

"Good choice," Dairren approved. "Timious's theory on the nature of dragons and how they connect to darkspawn is quite intriguing."

"Or disturbing, if you want to think about it," she replied. Looking up, she saw that he was watching her carefully, and to head off any questions, she blurted the first question she could think off to distract him. "Do you know anything about the Grey Wardens?"

It had the desired effect. Dairren took on the familiar look of concentration as he considered the question. As he looked away, Elissa took a booklet that had a collection of recent maps of Ferelden as well. "No more than anyone else. Is it true there is one here in the he castle? Have you met him?"

"Yes, I've met him."

"I'd join the Grey Wardens in a heartbeat," Dairren groaned dramatically. "Can you imagine? Destroying the darkspawn forever? Becoming a hero?" Elissa paused in her search for useful materials, because she could very well imagine such a future. She also knew that Dairren didn't have the character for it. Luckily, he too seemed aware of his own failings. "But I'd never gain any Grey Warden's notice." He sighed. "I'll have to be happy under your father's command."

Elissa whirled around, surprised. Even Dairren the Dull was allowed to go into battle! "You're going to be riding with my father tomorrow?"

"Yes, though I don't know when," he intoned. "I will leave when your father does. I'll ride as his Second – a glorified squire more or less. I'll care for his horse and armour and such. It's quite an honour."

She couldn't keep the coolness from her voice. "You consider it an honour to do menial tasks?"

"Unlike you, I am no child of a great house. If I can rise within the ranks of your father's services, it's more than I can hope for," he replied defensively. And then, in a sly tone, "I'm a bit surprised that you're not riding alongside your brother. Is that...disappointing?"

She felt her cheeks warm. "Are you implying something?"

"Implying?" he repeated innocently. "Not at all. I'm simply curious." She turned back to the shelves and busied herself with flipping through anything that looked like it might have use to her, trying to control the urge to throttle Dairren. "If you're interested, I shall recall what I can during the battle. My writing skills may be lacking, but I hope to convey a true sense of a warrior's experience. Writing such an important work is one of my ambitions."

"Will you actually fight?" she asked archly, picking out the last of the books she needed.

"I hope so. I admit trepidation at the thought of fighting the darkspawn, but I can't think of an opponent more worthy of defeat."

"Neither can I," she reflected silently. She stepped away from the shelves. "I should go."

He bowed. "Of course, milady. I'm sure you have much to do yet."

She refrained from sending him a dirty look, hefted the thick compendium that was made heavier by its hidden leaflets, and strode from the room, nearly knocking into the servant girl as she inched out of the way. Luckily by then Aldous had retreated back to his studies and the two squires were nowhere to be seen.

She made brief stops in the storage rooms along the hallways and added healing supplies and multipurpose tools to her stockpile, but refrained from going into the armoury to take the greatsword she had been training with. She needed to travel light, and that meant bringing only the weapons which would help her. As much as she wanted to master the two-handed sword, she knew that relying on her barely passable technique would get her killed.

'Perhaps once I get to Ostagar, I can convince someone to teach me,' she thought. 'Until then, the regular blade and shield will have to do.'

Luckily, the halls remained empty and she managed to return to her room with all of her things without incident. Garm had curled up on her bed, a practice her mother had tried to discourage for years now, and perked up when she walked in the room.

"I've got as much as I could take without its absence being noticed," she informed him giddily. "I'll pack it all up once I've spoken to Fergus and everyone retires for the night. Then it's just a matter of staying up until the opportune moment, and we're going to war."

Garm barked doubtfully.

"If you're worrying that I'll get in trouble for this, don't," she warned him. "They've already decided I'm to stay here like a good girl, there's not much worse they can do to me if I'm caught." She leaned over and scratched him affectionately behind the ear. "Besides, you know you're as excited as I am by the thought of this."

This time his response was wary agreement.

"All right – you stay here. I've got to go give Fergus Father's message. And I'll try to bring you some scraps from dinner, but don't expect anything grand. We're going into battle – I'd rather not have to lug a fat mabari around with me."

He growled.

"You heard me," she threw over her shoulder.

Her brother was in his chambers with his son and his wife, who he was in the process of embracing passionately. They separated just as she entered his room. "Now dry your eyes, love, and wish me well."

"Ugh, you two are nauseating me," Elissa groaned as a means of announcing herself.

They pulled apart. Oriana cleared her throat, embarrassed, while her brother laughed. "When there's a man in your life, you'll understand."

"I prefer my freedom, thank you," she replied with a snort.

"One day you'll meet someone who can handle you, mark my words."

"But until that day, big brother, I reserve the right to wince at your overt displays of affection," Elissa remarked, coming up behind Oren and tackling him from behind. He laughed uproariously as she turned him upside down and hoisted him over her shoulder. "Right, squirt?"

"Make me fly around, Auntie!" he ordered and she complied, twirling him in a circle around her. For all that she had avoided the boy when he was younger, once he had started to be less needy she had grown rather attached to him. He was six, but already showed signs of inheriting the Cousland looks and height. There was almost nothing of Oriana in his looks and, even less of her in his temperament, in which he appeared to imitate Elissa. Oriana was a plain-faced, auburn-haired woman who Elissa privately felt lacked personality, which she found odd considering her sister-in-law's rather colourful origins. Oriana's family were one of the richest trader families in Antiva, a position whose fiscal stability and connections to some of that country's most talented assassins had helped them rise to prominence among the political elite. Their stature was a contributing reason to how Oriana and Fergus had come to meet.

"Careful," Oriana warned anxiously. "If you keep at that, you'll upset his stomach before dinner."

"Better before than after," Elissa replied easily, although she righted the boy seconds later. He wobbled slightly, trying to regain his bearings, but continued to laugh approvingly. "Fergus, I bring a message. Father wants you to leave without him."

Her brother furrowed his brow. "Then the Arl's men _are_ delayed. You'd think they were all walking backwards!"

"I think that's giving Howe's men too much credit," Elissa snorted, and a moment later sighed. "I wish I could go with you."

"I wish you could come. It will be tiring killing all those darkspawn myself."

"In Antiva, a woman fighting in battle would be unthinkable," Oriana remarked primly. She had never made secret her disapproval of Elissa's training.

"Is that so?" Fergus grinned. "I always heard Antivan women were quite dangerous."

"With kindness and poison only, my husband," she replied smugly, and Elissa was impressed despite herself. Despite her belief in Oriana's plainness, there were times she wondered if the girl hadn't picked up some useful skills during her early years.

"This from the woman who serves me my tea," her brother laughed.

"Auntie, why aren't you fighting too?" Oren wanted to know. "You could be like Signe the Stork, attacking the bad king's men with your army of rebels!" He galloped around the room.

"That's "stoic", Oren," Elissa corrected, while Fergus laughed again. "And I'm supposed to mind the castle while your father's off fighting."

"That sounds boring," her nephew remarked. And then he brightened up. "But Papa says the war will not last long, and then he'll be back, and then you won't have to be bored anymore."

Elissa's smile felt forced, even as she murmured quietly to Fergus, "Do you think the war will be over quickly?"

"Word from the south is that the battles have been going well," he said carefully. "There's no evidence that this is really a Blight. Just a large raid."

"Could that be true?"

"I'll see for myself soon enough. Most likely I'll be back within a month or two, as Oren said." He cocked his head to one side. "Just in time to relieve you of your stewarding duties and check to see whether you've improved your swordplay, too. Mind you keep up while I'm away. Without Aedan or myself to test you, I'm sure you'll quickly go to seed."

"Honestly, Fergus, she'll be too busy running the affairs of the castle to worry about any of that," Oriana said loftily. "Your mother showed me some of the accounts we need to go over, as well as the inventory that needs to be finished before Firstfall. There won't be time for much else."

Elissa gritted her teeth. She had suspected that Oriana would be remaining behind as well, but this realization that her sister-in-law would be taking such an active part in keeping the castle running suggested that her parents wanted her to have a nursemaid – or at least someone to keep their eye on her lest she get any ideas while they were gone.

'If that's the case, I'm glad I'm leaving,' she told herself, trying to sound confident at least in her head. 'But I'm definitely going to have to do it tonight. Knowing Oriana, she'll be outside my room at the crack of dawn with a list of tasks to keep me busy the entire war.'

Pretending she hadn't noticed Oriana's comment, she remarked casually to Fergus, "Speaking of castle affairs, did you know there's a Grey Warden in the castle?"

"Really?" Oren piped up. "Was he riding a Griffin?"

"Sh-hh, Oren," his mother warned gently. "Griffins only exist in stories now."

"I heard that," Fergus said thoughtfully. "Did he say why he's come?"

"He says he's recruiting."

"Oh?" her brother continued to frown thoughtfully. "If I were a Grey Warden, little sister, I'd have my eye on you – not that Father would allow it."

"He didn't," Elissa huffed. "Mother neither. Or did you not hear the part about me having to stay here? Besides, I think the Warden's considering Ser Gilmore."

"I know you're upset about all of this, but it's for the best," Fergus told her earnestly. "I won't argue that you lack courage, but I think they're right that you're too young for battle. Among other things." At her mutinous glare, he raised his hand apologetically. "Deny it all you want, but you have to admit you're not ready."

"I can be ready if I have to be!"

"You say that now, but you've never truly been tested," he told her. He laid a hand on her shoulder. "Look, I promise, when I get back I'll see if I can't talk Father around getting you an official squire's position. If anything I'm sure Mother's people wouldn't turn you away to complete your training there, if it's what you really want. If Mother and Father disapprove...well, you can squire for me."

Elissa's eyes widened. "But that would hardly be the proper way of doing things. You're kin, I don't think –"

"I have a feeling that where you're concerned, the rules are always going to be bent slightly," Fergus told her in such a knowing voice that for a moment she was sure that he suspected her plans. "Just do me a favour. Be safe, take care of everyone and be here when I get back."

"That's three favours."

"But they all have the same goal, so it's really only one."

"There's a reason you failed arithmetic."

"As I recall, so did you."

She couldn't help the smile which tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You'll be missed, brother."

"If it's any consolation, I'm sure I'll freeze in the southern rain and be jealous of you, safe and warm back here." He shuddered theatrically. "Wish I was staying here – It's damned cold in the south this time of year."

"I am positively thrilled that you will be so miserable, husband," Oriana said blankly.

"Well, I'd better get on my way. So many darkspawn to behead, so little time," Fergus sighed dramatically. He swept his wife into another long embrace. "Off we go then. I'll see you soon, my love."

"I would hope, dear boy, that you would wait for us before taking your leave," a voice interrupted, and Elissa jumped slightly as her parents strode into the room.

Her mother took her brother's face into her hands and smiled sadly. "Be well, my son. I will pray for your safety every day while you are gone."

"A good shield would be more useful," Elissa muttered under her breath, earning a giggle from her nephew and a reproving glare from her sister-in-law.

"Maker preserve and sustain us all," Oriana intoned loftily. "Watch over our sons, husbands and fathers, and bring them safely back to us."

"And bring us some ale and wenches while you're at it!" Fergus chortled. When Oriana turned an identical glare on him, he coughed, adding, "Eh, for the men, of course."

"Fergus! You would say this in front of your mother!"

"What's a wench?" Oren wanted to know. "Is that what you pull on to get the bucket out of the well?"

"No, that's a winch," Elissa corrected, grinning at the scandalized expression on Oriana's face.

"A wench is a woman who pours the ale in the tavern, Oren," the Teryn explained jovially. He added, as an afterthought. "Or a woman who drinks a lot of ale."

The Teryna appeared to be fighting a smile, she exclaimed, "Bryce! Maker's breath, it like living with a pair of small boys. Thankfully, I have a daughter."

"A wench could also be a woman of loose morals," Elissa supplied thoughtfully. "Or a particularly ill-tempered laundress..."

There was laughter all around this time, while her mother simply shook her head. "I don't know why I even try..."

Fergus finally disengaged from his wife and began to say his last goodbyes. When he embraced Elissa, he murmured quietly in her ear, "You'll take care of them, won't you?"

She felt a pang of guilt, knowing what she was planning. For the first time, she felt truly doubtful of her plan to follow the men to battle. But it was not for fear of bloodshed, but at the idea of letting her family down.

Fergus pulled away, watching her intently and waiting for her answer.

Not meeting his eyes, she answered, "You'll need protection more than they will. Running across the front to kill monsters is more strenuous than examining expense reports."

Fergus grinned. "I wouldn't be too sure – what if you get a paper cut? Those can fester. I'd hate to come home to find my wife has had to have had her arm lopped off to prevent infection."

Elissa rolled her eyes. "Fine. I will see to their protection, especially against the terrible threat of paper cuts."

"You're a gem," her brother kissed her cheek.

'You wouldn't think that if you knew what I was planning,' Elissa thought grimly, watching him take his leave from their parents. As guilty as she felt at what she was arranging to leave, the persistent thought that it could be her last real chance to escape the monotony of a noblewoman's duties kept her steadfast.

There was little chance of harm coming to anyone at Highever, she reasoned. The walls had never been breached. Even if it were summer, when brigands tried to accost the castle in great numbers, the fortifications were such that even a dainty lady like Oriana could fight off an assault with ease.

'Unless the darkspawn are suddenly given to understanding tactics and surprise attacks, or unexpectedly sprout wings to fly here, everyone is perfectly safe behind the castle walls,' she decided. 'Father and Fergus might be angry at first, but I'll prove I belong there. Everyone says the battles have gone well, so there's no reason this one won't. We'll be home within a few months and everyone will see how foolish they were when they see Highever just as strong as always.'

Her mind made up, she excused herself to wash up for supper, confident in her plan.

Yet still, a feeling she could not identify nagged at the back of her mind.

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

Very heartfelt thanks to Cobar713 for editing this chapter. Reviews and constructive criticism welcome!


	3. Chapter Three

_**Battle Maiden**_  
>by ErtheChilde<p>

_**"My father once told me that adventure is just someone else knee-deep in shite far from home. Maker, but I wish I had listened to him."**_

* * *

><p>Note: If you are opposed to slash, feel free to skip the text after the section break.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Three:<em>

Elissa's blade gleamed in the torchlight as she ran the cloth carefully up from the edge to the point. She was sitting on a chair by the hearth in her room, her sword-care tools spread around her and in the lap of her loose-fitting rust-coloured dress. Her long hair, dripping from her bath, was drying in the warmth of he flames. Her pack of supplies lay hidden in the trunk at the end of her bed, her armour and boots hung on their stands nearby. Once she finished cleaning and oiling her sword, everything would be ready.

There was a loud, insistent knock on the door, and she stood up so quickly that her tools fell out of her lap. Their noise surprised Garm, who had been snoozing lazily, causing him to jerk awake with a surprised bark.

"Who is it?" she called, trying to keep the guilt out of her voice as she checked to see that the bottle of oil she had left open hadn't spilled. Luckily, it alone lay undisturbed.

"Are you decent?" she heard her mother demand through the door. "Don't tell me you're still in the bath."

"No, Mother, come in," Elissa groaned, picking up the rest of her things and placing her sword on its rack. It seemed she would have to wait until later to finish her work.

The Teryna breezed into her room, wielding a bulge of dark-green material over her arm the way a soldier might wield a crossbow. At the resolute expression on her face, Elissa froze, and felt an irrational impulse to run away. Something must have shown in her expression, because the Teryna pointed at her meaningfully. "Don't even think about it, pup."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Elissa replied innocently, part of her wondering if her mother knew what she was planning.

"You're not leaving this room in that," her mother retorted contemptuously. She brandished her weapon of choice, a scoop-necked linen gown and matching bodice. "Put this on."

Elissa wrinkled her nose in distaste. Obviously, she was no stranger to dresses, and she didn't mind the plainer garments, such as what she now wore, as long as they were comfortable. However gowns like the one her mother held out to her were more likely to spend their entire existence packed away in storage than actually worn by her. In fact, she dimly recognized that dress as one she had hidden away months earlier.

"Am I missing something?" she inquired archly, crossing her arms defiantly. "Are we entertaining the king tonight? Or perhaps a foreign delegation."

"I want none of your lip, daughter," the Teryna retorted. "Not only do we have the Arl and Lady Landra dining with us this night, but there is a Grey Warden here as well. Distinguished guests call for distinguished attire."

"I doubt the Warden cares whether or not I am dressed in the latest fashions," Elissa snorted, still not taking the garment. "You didn't even make me wear such ostentatious gowns when we were in Denerim."

"In Denerim you took your supper in your rooms so no one could see you eat like a farm animal," her mother retorted, nostrils flaring. "It is your father's last night at home before leaving for the front. I would rather he remember that he is fighting for his more-or-less refined daughter and not a Wilder savage who eats with her hands."

"I do not eat with my hands," Elissa snapped, but at the look in her mother's eyes, she took the dress meekly. There was no arguing when the Teryna looked like that. She eyed the bodice distastefully. "Wearing this, I doubt I will be able to breathe, let alone eat at all."

"Then the rest of us won't be subjected to your table manners," her mother responded briskly. "I need to see to the place settings, but Oriana will be in here to help lace you up once she finishes bathing Oren. Maker, but that boy gets more like you every day…"

"Except he doesn't need to wear archaic torture devices to impress the company," Elissa muttered under her breath.

Her mother glowered, and then turned to leave, but paused, and considered Elissa for a moment.

"Darling…promise me that you won't do anything rash."

Elissa blinked. "Rash?"

"I know you don't believe me, but you're very much like I was at your age," her mother said softly. "I know how much you want to go with your father, and the knowledge that you can't go must be eating you alive. You've always been…used to getting your own way, I know. But in this matter, you must accept our decision."

"Haven't I already?" Elissa asked in a low voice.

"In word, but not in spirit," her mother answered with a grim smile. "If it were me at your age…" She shook her head. "Never mind, I'm not going to give you any ideas." She reached out and tweaked Elissa's nose in affection. "Just, for once, respect our wishes. You are not ready for war. Maybe in a few years…"

"Don't," Elissa cut her off. "Don't make any promise you can't keep. I know who Father has been writing to these last few months. Why promise me what I want more than anything when you both want to see me married by next year?"

"Darling, we are only considering the offer from Redcliffe, there has been no decision –"

"Decision or not, I'm sure I will be the last to be told about it," Elissa retorted, turning away. "It seems that life in a cage, and a possible death in childbirth is a preferable future for me than on the field of battle."

"I tire of your melodramatics, daughter," the Teryna said coldly. She started to leave, and added, "As my presence seems to make you spout idiocy, I shall see you at dinner. Do be on time."

Elissa glared at her mother's retreating back, waited until the door was closed, then threw the gown onto the bed in a fit of anger. From his place by the hearth, Garm whined and sent her a reproving look. "Oh, don't look at me like that, you know I'm right. Although…" She groaned, she massaged the bridge of her nose in agitation. "I suppose I could have been a little more civil about it."

He rumbled agreement.

"Why do you always take her side, anyhow? She doesn't even like you."

He seemed to shrug, and Elissa sighed heavily. She pulled the cotton outfit off and took up the green one, muttering curses under her breath even as she squeezed into it. She was just trying to tighten the back of it when there was a knock at the door.

"Who is it?"

"Iona, my lady," came the quiet response. "Your mother asked me to look in on you."

"Come in," Elissa called.

The elven woman entered and curtsied quickly, before closing the door.

Now that they were out of the dim light of the library, she could see the woman's features better. Iona was rather pretty, in the fragile way of elves; her alabaster skin was almost translucent, and she had remarkable almond-shaped aquamarine eyes framed by long lashes. The off-the-shoulder cut of her gown conveyed a sense of vulnerability, but the straight-backed way she carried herself spoke of a good deal of pride. Her gaze lingering on the hollow of the other woman's throat, Elissa didn't immediately realize Iona was waiting for her to give her an order.

She gave herself a mental shake.

"You don't have to help me," she said gently. "You're a guest here, and besides – if I do myself up, there's a chance that I'll actually get to breathe tonight."

Iona returned her smile. "I can do that for you. Probably in a neater fashion than you."

"Well…," Elissa hesitated, but there was an engaging light in the elf's expression that made her want to acquiesce. "All right. Only because I don't fancy accidentally tying my fingers into a knot, though."

She turned to face her bed, arranging her unbound hair out of the path of the ties, and rested her hands lightly on the wooden post. A moment later she felt small fingers gently pulling the ties of the bodice taut.

"You're unlike what I imagined you to be," Iona commented softly as she worked.

"Oh? What did you imagine?"

"When Lady Landra told me the Teryna's daughter was training with the soldiers, I imagined a lady in a skirt being taught to fence…the way the Bann says they do in Orlais," Iona explained. "But from what I saw earlier, you do more than just that, don't you?"

"Those fops in Orlais are more concerned with dressing up the art of battle with pretty names and twirls than actually fighting," Elissa commented contemptuously. "They've forgotten that the point of a sword is to protect their people, not stab at each other in duels for pretentious reasons. If that was the style of combat Ferelden taught, I doubt very much that I would want to learn it."

"I see," Iona replied. There was a pause, and then, in a wondering voice, she added, "You don't seem to have any ladies-in-waiting to help you. Is this usual for a woman of your rank?"

"Maybe a little," Elissa confided unconcernedly. "I don't think Queen Anora had any ladies-in-waiting until she married King Cailan, although that may simply have been personal preference. And there are very few eminent teryn's daughters in history for me to compare with." She grinned. "As for me, I've never really needed one. Besides, I have a terrible temper – if someone was constantly fussing over me, I might go mad. Mother can't abide by them either, though in her case I think there are moral reasons involved. She says having a personal servant just encourages a different form of slavery."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she gasped and craned her neck around.

"Oh! Oh, Maker, I'm an idiot – I didn't mean that…that you're a slave, I simply meant that Mother thinks it reflects badly on nobles to depend on others for things they should be able to do themselves. That they become slaves to their own laziness, and…" She winced. "That didn't sound much better."

Thankfully, the elven woman didn't appear offended. She shook her head and said, "It is all right. I understand what you mean. It is a very Ferelden attitude, I think, to be so self-sufficient."

"Self-sufficient but socially inept," Elissa remarked apologetically as she turned her face back to the four-poster. "I apologize. I'm afraid I don't know very much about elves. Brother Aldous never considered their history to be important, other than when he talked of the Exalted Marches. And our elven servants are rather closed lipped about their people. Sometimes I get the feeling they wish me to forget they are elven so that they could do the same." Her eyes widened again, and she groaned, "I really don't mean to offend you."

"You're not," Iona assured her.

"To be fair, you are extraordinarily easy to talk to. I guess that is the mark of a good lady-in-waiting?"

"I suppose so," Iona allowed.

They lapsed into silence as Iona finished tying the bodice, and Elissa strode forward to examine herself in the mirror.

"It looks as if my lungs are being crushed in," she joked with approval, "and yet here I breathe. Thank you, Iona."

Iona grinned. "Any time, my lady."

"You have remarkable eyes," Elissa added suddenly, without thinking. She colored when she realized what she had said. "I mean…I've never seen that colour before."

The elven woman was so pale that her own blush was easily discernible, but she met Elissa's gaze steadily. "Thank you."

Silence stretched between them, and although part of her wanted to hold Iona's gaze as long as possible, at the back of her mind she remembered that there were other matters to see to. She looked away from the lady-in-waiting and busied herself with her hair. She smoothed it out and began to part it for a simply braid, but to her surprise, Iona stopped her.

"If it pleases you, my lady, I can do that."

Elissa glanced at her in wary surprise. "It's all right. I wasn't going to do anything fancy. Doesn't Lady Landra require your services?"

"She's been ready for hours," Iona laughed. "When she excused herself to rest earlier it was really just so that she could unpack her gowns to decide what she would wear for dinner. She wants to show off all of her latest Orlesian bobbles to your mother, no doubt."

"That sounds like her."

"Besides, Lady Landra's hair is not nearly as nice and thick as yours."

"Nice and thick is right," Elissa snorted. "I'd have cut it all off, if Mother let me."

"Oh, no!"

"Yes – it just gets in the way," Elissa explained, "especially when I'm fighting. I always have to pin it up in case one of my training partners decides to make a grab for it. And it's terribly annoying to care for. I always hated it when mother or Nan would brush my hair – they'd rake through it was if they were trying to dig furrows into my head."

"I'm quite good at it," Iona said earnestly, already reaching for the brush. "I always used to dress Lady Landra's hair – but now she's so afraid of losing even a strand that she doesn't let anyone touch it."

"I suppose…" Elissa trailed off, but the elven woman's stunning eyes were persistent, and she soon found herself being led over to the bed.

"Here, just relax and I'll have you ready in no time," Iona instructed, parting Elissa's hair to either side of her.

"Just don't do anything fancy," Elissa cautioned. "As much as Mother seems to think we're entertaining royalty tonight, I need some reminder that I'm not some made-up courtier."

Iona laughed and set to work.

At first Elissa remained tense. She had not understated her memories of her mother's and Nan's assaults on her hair as she grew up. Nan would chide her for complaining, reminding her that beauty was pain, while her mother would comment that if she could whack a sword at a bunch of ruffian boys every day, having her hair dressed should be nothing.

Slowly, though, as the elven woman gently stroked the brush through her hair, she relaxed. Iona's hold was gentle but firm, and she was careful not to press the tines too roughly against her scalp. Elissa felt her eyes drift shut at the rhythmic sensation as the brush worked through any remaining tangles with a gentleness that Nan had never employed.

Iona scooped the hair off the back of Elissa's neck, her nails gently brushing against her nape, and Elissa shivered at the touch. It was a pleasant feeling.

A little too pleasant, she thought, her eyes springing open. It had been a long time since she had been handled so gently.

'Don't even think about it,' she told herself sternly. A myriad of reasons presented themselves to her. It was enough that she had taken some of the servants from Highever to her bed, but pursuing one who was in the service of her mother's best friend would be folly, especially if she wasn't amenable to the idea. Even more importantly, Elissa was planning to leave that night. Starting something with the elven woman would be counterproductive.

She determinedly remained cautious of the rest of the elf's work, and drew a breath of relief when the task seemed at an end. Iona wove her hair into one long plait to be pinned on top of her head. In the mirror, Elissa noticed that it created a braided crown that was simple, yet elegant enough to pass her mother's inspection.

"That's quite nice," Elissa commented. "If I could do that myself, I'd never have to worry about the hair falling out from under my helmet."

"I could show you how, if you like," Iona offered. "Although it surprises me that you don't know how…"

"Like I told you," Elissa replied, turning around to face the elf. "I barely have patience to brush my hair, let alone style it. Besides, I don't have such nice long fingers as you do." She reached forward, comparing Iona's smooth white hand to her brown and calloused one. "See? I think it also explains why I've never been good at weaving or crocheting."

Iona laughed, and Elissa decided she liked the sound. She opened her mouth to say so, but there was a cough from the doorway. Elissa hastily put down Iona's hand and glanced up at her sister-in-law, hoping that her face wasn't turning as red as she believed it was.

"Yes, Oriana?"

"Lady Landra wished to know what has become of her lady-in-waiting," Oriana remarked casually, although she was watching Elissa shrewdly. "Also, your mother has called everyone for dinner. I believe you are to be escorted by Dairren."

"Let the tediousness begin," Elissa sighed and grinned at Iona. "Thank you for your help, Iona. I suppose I will see you in the coming days then – or are you taking your supper with Lady Landra tonight?"

"I will eat with the cook and the other elves," Iona replied, curtseying as she prepared to leave. "Farewell, my lady."

After she was gone and Oriana continued to look suspicious, Elissa groaned. "Well spit it out, you know you want to."

"I've heard rumours of your exploits, sister," Oriana said disapprovingly. "I had hoped they were simply idle gossip. You know such actions can bring shame upon this house, if they were discovered by those outside of it."

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," Elissa replied loftily, pretending to examine herself in the mirror.

"I'm referring to your indecent conduct," Oriana said, lowering her voice lest anyone in the foyer hear her. "You've taken servants to your bed – female servants – and they speak of you in the most irreverent terms."

"I'm not sure that means much, given your delicate Antivan sensibilities," Elissa commented lightly. "It could reflect either favorably or unfavorably on me – what did they say?"

Oriana turned red. "I'll not repeat such indecent chatter."

"Then don't. It's my business whom I lay with – though I am curious. Is it the fact that I've taken women to my bed, or the fact that they are servants? Because if that is your issue, I might consider Dairren or Ser Gilmore the next time I want company – though that has its own problems associated." She had no intention of either, of course, given their personalities, but it was fun to watch Oriana's face match the scarlet shawl at her shoulders. Elissa laughed. "Or is it that I have taken anyone to bed that offends you?"

"I'm not having this conversation with you," Oriana said haughtily, raising her chin defiantly. "I simply suggest you not set your sights on Lady Landra's servant, lest you inspire gossip. I'm going now."

"Don't go putting on airs, sister," Elissa called after her. "I remember when Oren was born – you were far from the delicate flower you pretend to be when you were screaming rather violent curses at Fergus."

Garm growled lightly, and she rolled her eyes. "All right, I know, but she does act as if she's the Maker's gift to the Couslands at times. It really isn't any of her business." She stretched experimentally, trying to see how much give the gown had, and then sighed, "Well, best get this over with. You can't go in the kitchen tonight, so one of the servants will be up with your supper. If you behave yourself, I'll see if I can't salvage a little extra for you."

The hound barked happily and jumped up on her bed. She didn't bother reprimanding him as she left her room.

She headed out of the family apartments, slowing when she entered the guest rooms. Dairren was waiting there and bowed. "My lady, if you would allow it, I have been asked to escort you to the dining hall."

"It seemed Mother really does believe we're at court," Elissa commented dryly, even as she took his arm.

"You have no idea," Dairren smirked. "I overheard her telling my mother that after the incident with Bann Esmerelle, she means to have you drilled in court etiquette while your father is away, so that you can't talk him around getting you out of it."

Elissa groaned as they left together.

She listened absently to his idle chatter as they walked to the dining hall, interjecting with monosyllabic answers whenever he drew a breath. Oriana was waiting for them, holding onto Oren's hand with a grim determination. The expression was matched by her son, resplendent in the starched tunic and hose he had been forced into. Elissa felt sure that if he managed to get away from his mother, the first thing he would do was find the largest puddle he could get to.

'It's what I would do,' she added silently.

Her nephew's eyes widened when he saw her, and he exclaimed, "Auntie, you look like a girl!"

She snorted. "Sorry to tell you, Oren, but so do you."

He gaped at her, and then renewed his efforts at tugging his arm from his mother's grasp. "You see? I told you, Mama!"

Oriana glared. "I hate you, you know."

"You do not," Elissa teased. "I make your life interesting. If I had known you growing up, you would be less of a stick in the mud."

"If I had known you growing up, you would have been assassinated by the Crows," Oriana retorted. She pulled Oren into the dining room while Elissa guffawed loudly.

"The Crows?" Dairren asked her, motioning for her to follow her sister-in-law.

"They're apparently a very famous guild of assassins in Antiva," Elissa explained. "She's been using them as a cautionary tale for Oren ever since he was little, but I don't believe they're as big a threat as she says."

"Well, they are from her homeland. She would know better, wouldn't she?"

"I suppose," Elissa replied, shrugging.

Dairren led her to her seat and pulled out her chair for her, and as she sat, she narrowed her eyes at the rest of the place settings. It seemed her mother had placed her as far away from the Grey Warden as propriety would allow, perhaps thinking to head off any more talk of joining the order.

'Which is unfortunate, because I'm sure he would have had interesting stories to tell,' she thought with resignation. 'I'll have no one but Dairren to talk to through dinner. This will be a long affair.'

At least Oren would be entertained, she thought with a smile. Her nephew had ensconced himself beside to Warden and was openly gaping at the man, as though a figure from a book of legends had just magically appeared before him. She was sure he would be prattling on about Griffins as soon as his mother was otherwise occupied.

As the rest of her family was seated, Elissa noticed that the mood within the dining hall was quieter than usual. Highever boasted a reserve force of a hundred regular soldiers, which didn't include the decent number of knights, squires and pages that lived and trained at the castle. Most of these, and half of the infantry, had already left with Fergus, leaving the others behind to march with the Teryn once Arl Howe's men arrived. The rest, except for those on watch, sat along the tables of the dining hall in wary silence. There was a palpable tension, one which Elissa suspected had to do with the coming war.

'Most of these men thought darkspawn were a myth,' she thought. 'If darkspawn are real, what other horrors might be they have to face?'

It was completely understandable that they were nervous. There had been decades of peace, give or take the odd border skirmish or bandit attack. And even in such incidents, they had faced other men. The idea of facing something from a children's horror story was daunting. Even though she was eager to go into battle, she wouldn't lie to herself and say she wasn't nervous about the prospect of facing darkspawn. Men had consciences and could be reasoned with – from what she knew of the darkspawn, they were capable of neither.

'But Fergus said the war would be a short one,' she reminded herself doggedly. 'And if that's true, we can't have morale so low as to turn it into a longer one.'

Silence fell in the hall as the Teryn stood to give the blessing over the meal. Tonight's words were different from the usual thanks, and she immediately understood why.

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just," the Teryn intoned, his voice carrying through the large hall with ease. "Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood, the Maker's will is written."

"Amen," came the chorus as the pages and servants began to bring out food and drink, the silence was broken only by low conversation.

'This isn't a good sign,' Elissa decided. The unease was palpable.

Her worry was not only from a strictly tactical standpoint, either. These were her comrades – a handful of her age-mates, newly knighted, sat among the ranks. This would be their first battle. The others, the regular soldiers, had served Highever while she was growing up. She knew all of them by name, and in most cases had met their families. Many had taken an interest in the oddity of a young girl training as a knight, at first curious and later proud. They boasted to strangers who came to Highever about their little 'Puss in Boots', who never shied away from a fight, even one she knew she was apt to lose. Over the years, they had sparred with her, offered her gruff kindness and blatant criticisms, taught her bawdy songs and talked of their dreams once their term of military service came to an end. In the training yard, they were her superiors, and she treated them so.

An idea popped into her head.

Elissa caught sight of Mithra, and motioned her over discreetly. Her friend excused herself from serving and hurried over, bending low so that Elissa could whisper in her ear.

"How much brandy do we have in our stores?"

The elf looked confused. "A cask or two, my lady. Why?"

"Enough for everyone here?" Elissa asked, nodding toward the men.

"Not enough for more than a glass each," Mithra frowned.

"That will do – I want them in a better frame of mind, not drunk. Father would have my head if his men were hung over when they march tomorrow."

"But my lady, that's your father's favorite – the Teryna would not approve –"

"Let me worry about my mother," Elissa assured. "I'd weather one of her tirades in an effort to keep the men's morale up. If you were going off to fight monsters, wouldn't you want to be treated like you mattered in your home steading?"

"I suppose," Mithra said doubtfully.

"Good," Elissa said decisively. "See that the casks are brought in. I'll worry about the rest."

"What was that all about?" Dairren asked her when the elf was gone.

"Nothing," she told him, lest he pass the message on to his mother who would mention it to the Teryna. Her mother wasn't a stingy woman, but she would not understand the necessity of treating the men to so expensive a spirit.

'Father will realise, I think," Elissa considered. 'Even if it is his favorite, he'll understand.'

Mithra had returned, standing in the doorway and waving for Elissa's attention. Elissa could make out two other servants behind her. So could her mother, who had glanced up at just that moment. She seemed to realize what Elissa was going to do, because she made to get up, but Elissa was on her feet already.  
>"Father, might I say a few words?" she asked loudly. Like her father, she had no trouble being heard, especially given the oddly silent nature of the guards. Immediately, both the high table and the soldiers' tables went quiet. Her father, appearing slightly bemused where he sat between her mother and Arl Howe, nodded.<p>

Raising her wineglass, she continued, "I would like to make a toast to a Fereldan victory against the darkspawn and to the health of every man here that will fight to keep our kingdom safe." Men had taken up their glasses and goblets as well, returning the gesture. "May your arrows be swift and your blades strike true. May the enemy be crushed beneath your boots and flee our noble soldiers back to the depths they came from." She gestured to each table in the hall in turn. "And may you all return here soon to celebrate in this hall."

The soldiers murmured their approval, and everyone drank to her words. Before any talking could break out, though, she added, "Now, men, I know it's a small gift for such noble gents as you who are about to march into battle, but it's all I can manage on such short notice. It's too bad the king couldn't have sent word a bit sooner, eh?" There was some laughter and noise of agreement from her age-mates. "My father recently purchased several casks of the finest elderberry brandy in Highever, and I offer it to you now, that you may drink deep to victory and savour the taste of home." She grinned. "But not too deeply, or I think the king might be a little disappointed in your performance on the field."

Loud guffaws and excited talking broke out, and as she sat down the soldiers nearest cheered and clapped. Elissa glanced over at her parents to see what they would make of her demonstration. Her father looked cautiously amused, obviously not relishing the idea of giving up his best brandy, but when he met her gaze, he nodded, smiling with careful resignation. Her mother, on the other hand, was tight-lipped. When she and Elissa exchanged glances, a steely look came into her eyes, and she smiled slowly.

'Uh oh,' Elissa thought, even as she smiled guardedly back. 'If I'm not mistaken, I'm about to pay for that one.'

"My daughter raises an excellent point," the Teryna said clearly when the burst of sound subsided. As she stood, silence reigned again. "You men are about to march off and defend our honor and reputation as much as you are going to defend Ferelden herself. You are doing us a great service, and so I believe you should be well-served this night. Daughter," Lady Eleanor lowered her voice and turned to her with a smirk that was not quite mischievous, but not quite good-natured either, "as it was your idea to serve the men spirits of such high quality, don't you think their server should be of high quality as well?"

Elissa narrowed her eyes distrustfully. "I suppose."

"Good," the Teryna clapped her hands, and spoke loudly again "My lovely daughter's generosity knows no bounds this evening. She has decided to personally dole out her generous offering to all of you."

There were more cheers, and Elissa's smile became rather fixed upon her face. She stood up and made her way around the back of the table.

"You would make me an ale-wench, mother?" Elissa asked sweetly.

"Well, it is apparent that you are no lady," her mother told her pointedly.

"The men needed something to boost their spirit!" Elissa protested. "Am I to be punished for being generous to our men?"

"As you are so free with gifts that are not yours to give, I aim to be free with your service. An even trade for the cost of the brandy, I'm sure," her mother retorted quietly. "You're always so keen to mingle with the soldiers, and I am giving you leave to do so. Of course, if you truly feel it is beneath you, tell them so."

'She expects me to refuse to do it,' Elissa realized, and bolstered her resolve. 'Well, I'd rather spend the evening with the men than endure Dairren making sheep's eyes at me any night.'

"Very well," she acquiesced. "I'll be off then."

"Do be sure to serve from the right, pup," her father piped up, his eyes twinkling in amusement. "It's only proper."

"Of course, Father," she agreed politely.

Beside him, Arl Howe was smiling at her in his disagreeable way. "Your intentions are admirable, my lady, for all that they run contrary to your station."

Elissa felt herself bristle at the veiled barb, but smiled sweetly as she passed. "If our station in life was determined by our intentions, my lord, I believe you would be a lawyer."

The Warden choked into his wine as she passed, and she thought she saw a smile in his eyes. Oriana, who had heard her, groaned and hurried to apologize to the Arl on her behalf.

'Let her,' Elissa thought angrily. 'I only spoke the truth. The man has an answer for everything, but instead of using that talent for the better good, he always seeks the angle most beneficial to him. It's absolutely odious.'

She held her head high and stepped down from the dais, making for Mithra and the other elves. Visibly fighting amused laughter, her friend showed her what to do and Elissa strode toward the table on the far right to begin. She had to run back and forth to where the elves had placed the casks, and soon she was rather out of breath. Despite Iona's attempts to make the bodice comfortable, her lungs felt constricted. The discomfort wasn't helped by the men, clapping her on the back when her parents weren't watching. She endured this and their playful joking as she carried them the goblets filled with the amber liquid.

"And here I thought you had your heart set on soldier's work! If I'd have known you were so interested in a career as a barmaid, luv, I would have told my wife when she was looking to hire down at the tavern," Samuel Glenstone, a man who had long served as one of the guard captains of Highever, chuckled.

"I'm afraid your wife wouldn't appreciate my ways, Sam. One lewd comment from a drunk, and I'd be sending her patrons flying through the door."

"Sounds like exactly what Ilse needs," someone next to Sam said, and they all laughed.

It continued so all down the table, although some of the men insisted she take a swallow of the sweet-tasting liquor with them. Against her better judgement, she found herself agreeing to some of the more persuasive ones, although she kept telling herself that it was all in fun. She was careful only to take the smallest of sips, but she had not yet eaten, and by the time she had gotten halfway through the men, she was already feeling a light buzz.

Up at the high table, her mother and father watched the process in amusement. The stubborn set of her mother's forehead had lessened, and she was laughing with the Teryn about something. Oren looked to be in deep conversation with the Warden, who looked somewhat at a loss about what to say to him.

She looked back to her task, and started in surprise when she found herself in front of Roderick.

"I don't know why I'm still surprised at you," he told her with a warm smile.

"Neither am I."

"I am to be tested tomorrow morning before the troops leave," Roderick told her proudly as she served him. "The Warden came by while I was drilling the men, and suggested a trial to evaluate my skills. He said Ser Trevelyan gave him my name."

"Trevelyan?" Elissa repeated. The old man had been her training master for several years. He was a veteran of the war with Orlais, and had trained the king's guards in Denerim until his retirement ten years earlier. When Elissa had begun her training, her father had requested Trevelyan to instruct her. The man had refused for two years, insisting that women had no place in combat. The Teryn had then invited the old man to evaluate Highever's guards and secretly arranged for Elissa to be sparring with one of the older squires, herself only a page, while they walked by. After the bout, which she had won, albeit narrowly, her father had made the request again. This time Trevelyan agreed, and he had been Elissa's chief instructor ever since.

That he did not seem to have mentioned her to the Grey Warden, or spoken for her abilities to her father before he returned to Denerim was a bitter pill to swallow.

She pasted a glad expression on her face. "Well, of course he did. You are the best. I wish you well tomorrow."

"You'll be there to watch though, won't you?" Roderick asked. "I could do with a little support."

"You won't need it," Elissa told him earnestly. One of the soldiers called out to her, waving his glass at her and calling for her. She glowered. "If that's how you treat your servers, Francis Brixham, I'm surprised you haven't died of thirst already."

"It's such a thing to be served by me betters, milady, I'm afraid the novelty's gone to me head!" the young man replied, earning laughs from his friends. She smiled wanly. Francis came from one of the fishing villages of her family's domain, and had taught her how to tie dozens of different types of useful knots. "Tell me you'll drink a toast to the good Teryn and an upcoming victory!"

"I already have, you nonce," she cried cheerfully, patting Ser Gilmore on the arm as she bid him farewell. In the end she did, of course, join him in a toast, and that made the rest of the soldiers keen for her to do the same. She managed to beg off most of them, but every now and then she agreed, if only to keep them in good spirits.

By the time the last soldier had been served, and the empty brandy casks were taken from the dining hall, Elissa had begun to trip over the hem of her gown and only just managed to sit down in her place.

"It seems your mother is not the only one who gets a little tipsy at formal functions," she told Dairren in a loud whisper.

He did not appear insulted by her words. On the contrary, he seemed entertained. "Yes, but she does not have quite so many admirers. You know every man down there, don't you?"

"Well, I would have to," Elissa explained as she started to eat. Her food was cold, and she made a face at it, but refrained from saying anything. Her mother was still in a good mood, and she intended to keep it that way. Instead, she reached for her wine glass, downing it in one gulp. "You see, they've taught me so much – it's like a very extended family. In fact, I'm sure I know them better than Mother's people in West Hill."

At his polite look, she pointed across the room, "See that man there with half his ear off? That's Colm Percival, Bann Percival's youngest son – he saved my life once when a man tried to kidnap me in the market. I was only nine at the time, and couldn't fight yet." She pointed again. "And the one next to him is Stevric of Hallowsmere. He showed me how to care for a horse when I could barely see over one's knee. His brother rode off with Fergus. There's Ser Roderick Gilmore, who's being looked at by the Grey Warden. He's sparred with me a few times, but I rarely beat him." She giggled. "Except when he's least expecting it. And that's Marvin Stonewall – he's a bard's son, and he's taught me some of the old songs – "

"You sing, my lady?" Dairren asked quickly, although whether this was from a desire to actually hear her or to stop her from naming every man in the hall, she wasn't sure. She decided to believe the former.

"I'm no bard, but I can carry a tune," she stated smoothly. "Have you ever heard the 'Song of the Mermaid'? Or 'The Fisherman's Scolding Wife'?"

"I – well, no, I haven't, but –"

Elissa beamed. "Here, I'll teach it to you!"

Before he could stop her, she launched into a tune.

(-)

"I believe my mother is more practiced in the art of guile than I first believed," Elissa groaned as she staggered through the bedroom door. Despite being at least a head shorter than Elissa, Iona had supported her all the way from the dining room. 'Not a small feat.'

Garm was lying on her bed. Upon their arrival, he raised his head and his small tail began to wag.

"Sorry, boy, I got sent away before I could grab you anything," she told him, and he grumbled, putting his head back down on his paws.

"Guile, my lady?" Iona asked as she guided Elissa's stumbling form to her bed.

"Perhaps not guile," Elissa reconsidered, tripping over the full skirt of her gown. "Ulterior motives, maybe." She reached around her back to find the ties to the bodice. She only succeeded in turning herself around in a circle until the smaller woman, a curiously amused smile on her face, stopped her and began to undo the ties for her. "I have a feeling she knew what would happen if I did go through with my plan. She really didn't want me to speak to the Grey Warden. Otherwise she never would have come up with that idea for me to personally serve the men."

She groaned to herself as the world spun. She reached out for the four-poster to steady herself.

"Why did she not wish you to speak with the Grey Warden?" Iona asked as she lifted the bodice over Elissa's head and began to undo the clasps of the gown.

"Never mind," Elissa grumbled. "It's of no consequence now. I'll have to find another way. I'll speak to the Warden after everyone retires – " She suddenly remembered her conduct at dinner, and groaned. " – if I hadn't made such a fool of myself!" She smacked her hand to her forehead, and then moaned when this made the world jar painfully. "Ow."

"Perhaps I should fetch the Teryna," Iona suggested, already moving to leave, but Elissa waved her off.

"No, for all I know this was her plan to begin with. I wouldn't put it past her." She peered at the elven woman. "What do you think? Did my mother look particularly smug?"

Iona's eyes widened in surprise at the direct question, and lowered her gaze beneath long lashes. "Forgive me, but I did not notice anything like that. I was not called until your mother wished you brought to your room."

"Before I could make a bigger fool of myself, right?" Elissa smirked grimly. The elven woman didn't say anything to that, and Elissa laughed lightly as she shrugged out of the dress. "You can go ahead and tell me what you think, I probably deserve it. At least I wasn't dancing on the tables when you walked in. I'm a terrible dancer."

This time Iona did smile. "No, my lady, but you had started singing. Although your voice is rather good, I think it was the subject of the song your lady mother objected to."

"There's no account for taste anymore," Elissa sighed, shimmying the material down to her knees. She fell back onto the bed in nothing but her shift and stockings, and Iona automatically reached to untangle the dress from her legs. "You don't have to do that, you know. You're not my servant – I know I don't act the part of hostess as well as my mother does, but you are a guest here. You could have simply left me by the door and I would have figured this out."

"I don't mind," Iona told her as she placed the dress neatly at the end of the bed, a blush on her cheeks drawing Elissa's attention. "The cook spent most of the evening talking about her rheumatism, and it was rather too warm in the kitchen. I would prefer to be here, truthfully."

'Now that's interesting,' Elissa thought idly, moving closer to Garm as she did so. "Well, alright, but if you are to stay, please sit down." She patted a spot beside her. "You're standing, and it's making me dizzy. Let's continue our conversation from earlier – I'm afraid I haven't seen many elven ladies-in-waiting. I didn't even know Lady Landra employed elves – some nobles don't, from what I gathered at court."

Iona hesitated, but at Elissa's insistent look, she slipped closer and sat down.

"The Bann's family is good to their elven servants. That is not true in many households, although I hear it is in yours," Iona granted. "It speaks well of your father to show such compassion. As it is, Lady Landra has been very good to me. I am lucky."

"How did you come into her service?" Elissa wanted to know.

"My family has served hers for many years. Lady Landra elevated my place as a reward for our loyalty. I hope this position might one day pass to my daughter."

Elissa's eyes widened in surprise. "You have a daughter?"

Iona looked down. "Forgive me, I shouldn't have mentioned her."

"I was simply surprised. You don't look much older than me, let alone old enough to be married with a child."

"We marry a lot younger in the Alienage than you do here," Iona explained. "I was about your age when I married my husband. He…died of a wasting sickness two years ago."

Elissa sighed in regret. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, it's…alright. He is with the Maker now."

"It's a sad thing for a child to lose a parent so young. How old was she when he died?"

"Amythene was seven."

"I bet she has your beautiful eyes," Elissa remarked frankly, and felt the blood rush to her cheeks when she realized what she had said. "Sorry. Once again, the brandy has run away with my tongue. I swear, I'll never drink another drop of the stuff."

"I…it's all right," Iona murmured demurely, unable to hide her pleased smile. "And she does. Many people say she looks a great deal like me, but I'm the only one who sees her father in her."

"Does she live at Bann Loren's estate as well?"

"No, the Bann's home is not half as large as your castle," Iona replied. "My family lives in Denerim's Alienage. My cousin and his wife look after her while I am working. I get to see her every fortnight."

"The Alienage," Elissa repeated. Highever had an Alienage, but she had never been allowed to enter it despite her curiosity. "Do you enjoy living there?"

Iona appeared to be balancing what she wanted to say. "There we do not stand out quite so much. In the Alienage, my daughter learns what it means to be elven, as much as possible. So much of our history has been lost."

"And what do you think of humans?"

This time Iona definitely looked uncomfortable. "That is…an awkward question. What do you mean?"

"Do you find us very different from your own people?" Elissa asked, leaning forward in interest.

"Sometimes," Iona finally said. "To be honest, we lost so much of our history. We don't speak our language anymore, and many do not know what being elven means. We live among you, worship as you do, sing the same songs, eat the same foods…I am a Fereldan woman, yet my race will always set me apart." She noticed Elissa's rapt expression, and shrugged apologetically. "I am sorry, my lady. I don't mean to bore you."

"I'm far from bored," Elissa assured her. "Even if you have lost most of it, from what little I do know about your culture, it's so different. All the old legends that have elves in them speak of a rich history, and talented warriors."

"That's only among the Dalish," Iona corrected gently. "In the Alienage, warriors are a little scarce. Actually, they are non-existent. You see, any elf that is found with a weapon is executed."

"What?" Elissa demanded, straightening up. "But…how are you supposed to defend yourselves?"

"It's not that bad," Iona said hurriedly, no doubt sensing that she had said something wrong. "We are a peaceful people. Among our own, it is rare that a dispute escalates beyond a pitched argument, and so we don't really need them. It's only when the shemlen come stir up trouble, and…" She trailed off, embarrassed. "Pardon my words, my lady."

"Shemlen?" Elissa repeated, drawing her eyebrows together. "What's that?"

"It's…a word, from old elvish. It's what we call humans. It's not…exactly polite, which is why I apologized."

"Humans have so many names that they call elves, why shouldn't you have your own names for us?" Elissa shrugged. "Do – er, shemlen, was it? Do they come into the Alienage a lot? I would have thought the whole point of an Alienage was because humans wanted to be separated from elves?"

"For the most part, yes," Iona answered. "But every so often, a group of men will drink too much ale and come looking for…entertainment." The elven woman's face suddenly became bitter. "It happens so infrequently that we can usually forget about the incident, but –"

"Incident," Elissa's eyes narrowed, and then she made the connection. "You mean they come looking for women, don't you?" Iona's inability to meet her gaze answered her. "Has this ever happened to you?"

She didn't answer the question, merely mumbling, "Thankfully residing with Lady Landra has made the problem less likely to occur."

"Can't you speak to the guards in Denerim?"

Iona shook her head, looking at Elissa with pity. "We're elves, my lady. They would make a show of looking into the matter, but if the human waves a bit of coin about, the matter disappears entirely."

"That's terrible!" Elissa cried. "Even if you are elves, you said it yourself! You're still Fereldan! If any of those men tried that outside of the Alienage, the woman or her family could bring him to the courts, and he would go to prison! And if he were charged with rape, then..." She trailed off angrily. "They only do it because they know you can't go after them with a weapon!"

"It is the way of things."

"That's despicable!" Elissa exploded. "Everyone should have the right to protect themselves, even if…even if…" She trailed off, fury choking the words before she could form them. She glared so furiously that Iona flinched, but then she shoved herself off of the bed and faced the elven woman. It took her a moment to be completely steady before she beckoned for Iona. "Come here."

Iona's eyes widened in alarm. "My lady – surely you jest. You can barely stand –"

"I can stand just find," Elissa retorted. "Wielding a sword would be a bad idea right now, or riding a horse, but I 'll be happy to show you how to fight in case a man comes at you with bad intent."

"But – but my lady, I have nothing to fear while I am in Lady Landra's service –"

"And what about after?" Elissa demanded, a little louder than she had intended. "Or what about your daughter, especially when you're not there to protect her?"

Iona's expression hardened, but her voice was still uncertain. "Fighting could get a body thrown in jail. My friend Adaia fought back – her attackers were actually guards. What they did to her, my lady, I'll see in my nightmares forever."

"All the more reason to learn!"

"I already told you, we can't. Besides, elves can't afford arms. Even if we could, the guards that patrol the Alienage would notice."

"You'd only get in trouble if you got caught, and what I'm going to show you doesn't require any weapon whatsoever. It's just to help you run away," Elissa insisted doggedly. "Here, it's easy, look –"

Before Iona could react, Elissa had taken her gently but firmly by the wrist.

"Here's what you do if someone grabs you, and you can get a hold on their hand." She demonstrated by placing Iona's fingers against the thin skin of the underside her wrist, and manoeuvered the elven woman's thumb to rest above its back. "This is a really sensitive area – if you put pressure on it – no, harder – all right, ow, yes, like that – only with someone attacking you, you would want to squeeze as hard as possible – they'll let go right quickly – unless they're so drunk that they don't notice the pain. Then you'll have to try this –"

She proceeded to show Iona several holds and defensive strategies, which the elven woman tried to beg off at first. Eventually she seemed to realize that Elissa was entirely serious and resigned herself to trying to perform the techniques to the best of her abilities.

Elissa wasn't sure how much time passed, but the torch-light had begun to ebb, and Garm had long since curled up in a corner across the room, wary of the activities of his mistress and her guest.

It was as she was showing the elven woman how to discourage someone from grabbing hold of her from behind that Elissa tripped over Iona's skirts as she tried to move around her and fell forward. The lady-in-waiting tried to catch her, but instead overbalanced herself and the two fell into an undignified heap on the bed.

Neither minded. Instead, they both dissolved into laughter.

"This is not what is supposed to happen," Elissa sniggered, pushing herself gently off of Iona. "I doubt most drunk humans slumming in the Alienage would be wearing long skirts."

"Not unless they lost a bet," Iona agreed, trying to sit up. Elissa didn't move out of the way fast enough, and they bumped foreheads. "Oh, ow – I'm sorry, my lady."

"Elissa," she replied automatically.

Cool fingertips reached out to brush the part of her brow that she had hit, and she felt a shiver arc up her spine.

"Elissa," the lady-in-waiting repeated softly, almost questioning. Their eyes met, and Elissa thought she saw something glint at her beneath the shadows cast by the torchlight.

'Don't do it,' Elissa told herself, remembering her sister-in-law's warnings as well as her own reasons. 'Just because you're in no condition to leave any time soon, doesn't mean you won't be in a few hours. She'll complicate things.'

Even as Elissa's thoughts berated her, Iona leaned forward. Before Elissa realized her intention, soft lips brushed tentatively against her own.

Eyes wide, she was momentarily too surprised to react. Iona tense and pulled back, looking panicked. "I'm sorry, my lady. I thought…I should go."

Elissa put a hand out to stop her. "No, don't go. I was merely…surprised."

Iona looked nervous. "I thought…I heard one of the women in the kitchen say that you…were open to such things."

'Oriana was right about gossip traveling,' Elissa thought bleakly. Out loud, she said, "I am. It's just…usually I'm the one to make the first move."

Something gleamed in Iona's eyes, and then her entire demeanor changed. She cocked her head to one side, the movement drawing attention to the arch of her shoulder and smoothness of the pale skin. "Then why didn't you?"

Elissa opened her mouth to reply, but found she couldn't think of anything to say.

Iona took advantage of her silence, "I saw the way you watched me, my lady. I know that look. It is usually accompanied by a less…gentle invitation. But you never made such a move, even though it was clear you wanted to. Not many nobles are so…restrained."

'It's not restraint I'm worried about,' Elissa thought miserably, forcing herself to focus on the elven woman's face. 'If I didn't intend to leave Highever tonight, this would be a non-issue.' Out loud she murmured, "You are in the service of my mother's friend, both of you guests. Taking advantage of you under those circumstances…as attractive as I do find you…would be in poor taste."

"I am not so pretty that suitors are lining up, my lady, and it has been long since anyone has looked at me the way you do," Iona's eyes crackled with heat, and Elissa felt her mouth grow dry. Her heart began to beat faster as the woman smirked, a rather incongruous expression on her otherwise cheerful face, and leaned closer. "I believe in this case, I am the one trying to take advantage of you."

"At least you're honest," Elissa managed, hating that her voice sounded higher than usual.

"Growing up in an Alienage, you learn to take what you can get and to turn situations to your advantage," the elven woman confided, brushing back Elissa's hair. "Even if that means using your hostess's drunkenness to your benefit."

Elissa gasped as Iona's lips trailed up her collarbone, toward her jaw.

"This isn't a good idea," she whispered in a low voice, once she regained the power of speech. "I'm sure the Lady Landra will be looking for you –"

"By the time she retires for the night, I doubt she will be in any condition to wonder where I am," Iona told her with a wry smile. "I can slip into her chambers after she goes to sleep."

"It's always the quiet ones who are so sly," Elissa commented, struggling to come up with a better argument. All of her planning was about to be for nothing if she let this continue.

"Are you going to keep making up excuses to cover up the fact that you really want this?" Iona whispered slyly. "Or are you going to help me out of my dress and prove true all the rumours I've heard about you?"

Elissa felt a cold knot untie itself in her chest, and then travel down from neck to spine as the warmth of the other woman's proximity dissolved her reservation and tension. Her eyes darted to the corner of the room where her trunk and armour lay, ready for her.

'It's not as if I can plan anything else out,' she decided. 'And she just said that she doesn't intend to stay the whole night…it might give me an opening…' Her mind went blank momentarily as teeth nipped lightly at her earlobe.

"Elissa?"

She shivered at the sound of her name on the elven woman's tongue, and felt the rest of her thoughts flee. 'Sod this.'

"I suppose it depends on which rumours you're talking about," she purred, capturing Iona's lips and pushing her lightly back on the bed.

* * *

><p>As per usual I have to give major thanks to Cobar713, who has no qualms about pointing out grievous errors and telling me off when my imagination runs away from the canon of the story. This story wouldn't be what it is without him.<p>

TBC


	4. Chapter Four

**_Battle Maiden_**  
>by ErtheChilde<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>"My father once told me that adventure is just someone else knee-deep in shite far from home. Maker, but I wish I had listened to him."<strong>_

* * *

><p>Note: This chapter uses dialogue directly from the game. No infringement is meant, simply a means to frame to situations and plot for the characters. I will try to keep direct game dialogue to a minimum, except where it is needed.<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Four:<p>

_She couldn't see anything at first. The light blinded her after so many months locked up. She felt tears gathering as she tried to blink away the assault of daylight upon her weakened eyes, squinting into the distance for some semblance of what was to come. They had marched her halfway across the square before she could make out any distinct shapes._

_The plaza was larger than most, and the thunderous din of the crowd surrounding her made her ears ring. Snow fell, turning the cold ground muddy. Despite the chill, she was barefoot and dressed only in a simple cotton shift._

_Up ahead, the slaves had finished building the pyre around a tall pillar. Surrounding it were smaller likenesses, each already holding its own captive. The terror that she had fought ever since finding out what they planned for her struggled once again to the surface, and she tensed. Her step faltered, and the guards who led her didn't pause to haul her onward. They laughed and joked, meaning to provoke her, but in the end, their callousness strengthened her resolve; she forced herself to walk._

_Whatever she felt inside, she would remain solemn and calm to her killers. She had to show her men that there were worse things than death. The Maker would not forsake them._

_The guards lifted her onto the pyre and began to fasten her to the stake, while slaves fit her with small bundles of sticks and straw. They tied these to her torso, thighs, hands, calves and even into her hair._

_She swallowed the sickness that twisted in her stomach._

_Her death was meant to be cruel and painful, an example to the enemies of the Imperium._

_At the command of the captain of the guard, the slaves lit fires along the pyres. The crowd shouted its approval and dismay as flames eagerly flew and twisted through the heap of wood. The agonized screams of her war leaders soon joined the din._

_She refused to cry out, despite the searing pain from the heat and the suffocating smoke that surrounded her. Instead, she looked upon her executioner where he stood by his wife and felt only pity. Behind them, harder to make out because of the smoke that enveloped her, was the man who had sold her to them._

_The bitter tune of betrayal sang in her heart, and she had to look away lest her anger overwhelm her where her pain had not._

_Her gaze fell then upon something that did not quite belong. A child – a girl with dirty hair and an ugly scar up the side of her face– stood alone in front of the burning pyre. All the guards were keeping a respectful distance from the flames, but the waif before her seemed not to notice the intensity of the blaze._

_Elissa tried to tell the girl to get away from the heat, but her lips and mouth were so dry she couldn't._

_The girl cocked her head to one side, a calculating look in her mismatched blue and brown eyes. "Well, I have my doubts, but you may just do." A strange smile played on her lips. "Oh, and you might want to duck after the first shot."_

_The words made no sense, and she wanted to tell her so, but her tongue was heavy in her mouth. The screaming grew louder as choking pain took over, like a hand clapped over her mouth –_

Garm's low, growling bark shook her free from the clutches of the dream, and for a moment, Elissa simply lay still. Her chest was heaving, and a fine sheen of sweat covered her skin, as though she had just come from the training yard.

She inhaled deeply, a calming breath. She had been dreaming, but of what she couldn't quite recall. There had been fire and screaming, but other than that…Her thoughts were dulled by slumber and something else.

She frowned, trying to remember.

It took her a moment to realize the screaming from her dream had not stopped, but simply merged into a roar in the distance. Somewhere, a bell was ringing. Elissa felt the hair stand up the back of her neck. 'What's going on?'

Garm barked again and she felt Iona stir beside her, arms tightening across her bare waist. The elf mumbled, and sat up, throwing the blanket off both of them. Elissa felt gooseflesh inch across her arms and breasts at the sudden onslaught of cold, but ignored it, sitting up as well. She frowned as her vision adjusted to the dark. Iona was rubbing her eyes blearily and Elissa paused to admire the soft contours of the other woman's body.

There was a piercing whine, and then Garm was barking again. She heard the tapping of his claws against the cobblestones as he headed for the door. There was a muffled pounding sound and loud voices in the hallway.

"What is it?" she wondered out loud, pushing down all other thoughts and fighting the last vestiges of sleep.

"You're hound is making so much noise," Iona murmured. "He seems so angry."

There was the sound of crying now, closer but still muffled. And then it cut off abruptly. Elissa frowned, getting to her feet. "Something is wrong."

She waited a beat, in case the sounds started again.

Iona shook her head in confusion. "I thought I heard yelling when I woke up, but now I hear nothing." Garm continued to pace by the entrance, obviously agitated. "I'm going to see if someone's in the hall."

Before Elissa could tell her to wait, the elf had reached for the iron handle and yanked open the heavy door.

It happened in an instant.

The door flew open and an arrow flew through the gap, lodging itself in Iona's throat. The elf gave a strangled cry which ended in a choking gurgle. Elissa barely managed to glimpse the attacker as the body hit the floor and Garm leaped from the room. A second arrow nearly caused her to share Iona's fate, but she found herself already ducking out of the way, receiving only a light graze on her shoulder in the process.

'That should have killed me,' she thought vaguely, skidding across the stone floor, head low. The pain wakened her senses better than anything else, and she ignored the urge to cover herself. Her first priority had to be protection. The only weapon nearby was her sword, on its rack across the room. Before she could make a move toward it, another unknown assailant appeared in the doorway, his own blade in hand and malice in his gaze.

"I've heard about you," he breathed, advancing on her. His eyes roved over her body unapologetically, and an ugly smile overtook his face. "If you're quiet, maybe I'll let you live for a bit longer."

Her eyes flickered to the weapon rack and back to his face. It was useless to her now, and she could tell from the widening of his smile that he realized this too. She would have to incapacitate him here, or get around him somehow for her sword. Neither option was preferable. She had never been forced to test the skills Aedan had imparted to her. As for getting around the stranger, it was more likely his would be able to kill her before she got there.

Calculations danced in her head – he was shorter than her five feet eleven inches, but also more muscular. Not much advantage there. Her eyes flicked to his hands, noticing that he held the hilt of the sword awkwardly, as though not used to that particular weapon. He was probably a common soldier, with rudimentary training, and not a full knight. Even so, she would have to catch him off guard, and quickly. Her only strength at the moment was that she was probably faster than him.

Despite the cries of pain and snarling from Garm, she didn't know if there would be anyone else entering her room. She did not relish the idea of the archer that had killed Iona coming in and taking another shot, and from the sudden myriad of shouts, it seemed her assailant had backup.

She stared him down, trying hard not to notice her nakedness even as he leered at her through a mouth lacking several teeth. She would only get the one chance and couldn't afford to be distracted. She began to step carefully to the side, trying to get out from behind the bed to allow herself some room. She couldn't suppress the shudder as she glimpsed Iona's crumpled form, and he noticed even in the darkness.

"Serves you right, taking a knife-ear to your bed. Unnaturalness, that's what it is," he growled.

She narrowed her eyes, and hissed, "Is that what your mother says when you take her to your bed?"

It was a paltry insult at best, but it had the desired effect. He growled at her and attacked. Her suspicions were confirmed almost immediately. He lacked the technique or reflexes of an actual knight, and she pressed her advantage.

As he swung his blade downward, she dodged to the side and caught him by the arm. Heaving, she twisted to lock it with as much speed and force as she could muster. Fear made her stronger. He howled as she swung the elbow wrong-end forward against the post of her bed with all the strength of her arms and weight of her body. The joint broke with a dreadful crunch of tendon and bone, and she moved back as he faltered, clutching at the broken limb. Without giving him the chance to recover, she rolled her toes back to present the ball of her foot and kicked him under the jaw, forcing as much power into the blow as she could.

She felt the snap of his neck more than she heard it, and quickly let the body drop to the floor in an undignified heap.

'I just killed a man,' she thought with a barely suppressed shiver. There was no glory in the action, no thrill like she had read in the old legends. She felt only the quiver of her stomach and rapid heart rate accelerated by fear.

A long, drawn out moan of agony outside her room cut off with a wet squelch, and then there was silence. Garm returned to her room, his muzzle coated in blood and a wound bleeding wound in his flank, but with a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

She glanced into the silent hall, taking note of three bodies with their throats ripped out. One still made grasping motions for his sword, but soon went still.

"Good job, boy," she whispered, darting across the room to grab her weapon and shield before any more surprise guests could appear. The hilt was comfort in her hand as she crouched down by Iona's side.

Somehow, the elf still lived, but Elissa knew that even with several health poultices, only a healer would have the chance to save the life of someone with such a wound. As it was, Iona was surrounded by a growing pool of blood, her eerie eyes wide in fright and pain.

"A…myth…ene," she managed to gurgle through her ruined throat. Elissa felt hands grasping at her, desperate and feeble. "Tell…my…"

"I will," Elissa vowed, her own voice not above a whisper. "I'll find her. I'll make sure she's taken care of. I promise."

Iona's eyes rolled upward but didn't close as she died. The sick tremor threatened Elissa's composure, but she swallowed it down with an effort.

Grabbing her leather armour and boots from the stand, she dressed mechanically, studying her attacker's body with forced calm. The heraldry on his shield was familiar, but in the dark she couldn't make it out.

"Darling!"

She whirled around, her body alert and prepared for another threat, but her hearing caught up just as quickly. Her mother stood in the doorway, armed with quiver and arrows and wearing her own armour. "I heard fighting outside, and I feared the worst. Are you hurt?"

At the question, the bleeding scrapes of her knees and shoulder ached, but she replied, "No."

"But all that blood –"

"They killed Iona," Elissa reported dully.

"The elven girl? But why?"

"I'm going to take a wild guess and say it was because she was with me." She didn't know how she could speak without her voice trembling. Her mind was a flurry of half-formed thoughts, and her entire body sang like it had been struck by lightning. She finished fitting her gloves, her hands only now beginning to shake, and nodded grimly at her mother. "And you? Are you hurt? What's going on?"

"There were men in the halls, so I barred the door," her mother replied with a shake of her head. "I prepared myself within, and didn't come out until I heard your hound dispatch the last of them." Elissa nodded again, more out of a need to move than in any agreement. "Did you see their shields? Those are Howe's men!"

Elissa swivelled around to stare at the heraldry of the dead soldier again, and felt a wrenching twist in her gut as she realised her mother spoke the truth. Her shock-addled mind hadn't been able to make out the shape of the bear that covered the shields of the Amaranthine soldiers. Now it seemed to glare at her in triumph.

"Why would they attack us?" her mother whispered.

"He's betrayed Father," Elissa replied, only realising the truth of her words as she said them. With every passing second, she could imagine the scenario that had played out, the memory of what she had heard her father and Arl Howe discuss, her own distrust for the man, the delay of his forces – "He's attacked while our troops are gone."

Her mother gave a sharp intake of breath. "You don't think Howe's men were delayed...on purpose?" She paused, and then in a menacing hiss, "That bastard! I'll cut his lying throat myself!"

"'Not if I beat you to it," Elissa replied as a wave of seething hatred washed over her. She glanced down at the elf's body. She felt a wave of guilt; Iona might still live if she hadn't been with her.

"Have you seen your father?" Teryna Eleanor suddenly asked. "He never came to bed."

Dread filled her, but Elissa forced her voice to remain level. "Maybe he stayed up with Arl Howe?"

"We must find him!"

"Mother..." A sudden, horrible thought occurred to her, and even her willpower couldn't keep the trepidation from her words as she whispered, "We should check on Oriana and Oren as well."

The Teryna's eyes widened in shock, and she gasped, "Andraste's mercy! What if the soldiers went into your brother's room first?" Elissa couldn't speak. The memory of the cry that had suddenly stopped short almost made sense now. It must have shown on her face, because her mother's lip trembled. "We must...check on them quickly, and then we'll look for Bryce downstairs."

Her mother was out the door again. Elissa took a moment, trying to clear her thoughts, but when this came to naught, she kicked open her chest of drawers and brought out the leather pack she had hidden earlier that day. Its original use seemed so far away now, but it would be useful if they were accosted by more of Howe's men and needed to treat injuries. Slinging the pack over one shoulder, she was considering her shield warily; she didn't want to take it, but her memory of Aedan's warning made the decision for her. If there were people in the castle who were threatening her family, she had to use the weapons she had the most training in.

She followed her mother across the hall, ignoring the savaged bodies that stained the tapestries. Garm followed at her heels, but she stopped short of walking into Fergus' room. Her mother stood utterly still, hands drawn up over her face. Beyond the door, Elissa could make out the crumpled forms of her sister-in-law and nephew, now bloodied and pale. Their killers had left them on the floor, as though they were no better than dumb beasts put to pasture.

The bile rose in her mouth, but she fought it back. She couldn't lose herself now, not until she knew what was going on.

"No! No, no, no!" her mother was moaning. "My little Oren. What manner of fiend slaughters innocents?"

"The kind that I'm going to hunt down and gut," Elissa growled viciously. Her mother was right. Oriana and Oren had been harmless. Oriana may have been Antivan, but she had no dark past which would make her a threat. If anything, her connections in Antiva would have made her a valuable hostage. And Oren – Elissa's heart clenched, but she finished the thought – Oren had never even left the castle or Highever. Who would consider him a threat? "Why would they do this...?"

"Howe's not even taking hostages," her mother answered her bitterly, giving voice to Elissa's own thoughts. "He means to kill us all." The rage in her voice was replaced by pain. "Oh, poor Fergus..."

It was another jab to her heart. Fergus was long gone. He would not learn about his wife and son's deaths for months or more, unless...

"Let's go," her mother whispered weakly. "I don't want to see this."

Elissa paused, staring grimly at the bodies in her brother's room. Even in the dimness of the night, she could see straight into glazed eyes of Oren's corpse. His little mouth was slack, and he looked as if he had been caught by surprise. It was a small mercy that his end had been quick. She strode past her mother and knelt by the bodies. She tried to bring herself to close their eyes, but her hands had begun to shake so uncontrollably that she needed to inch back.

She closed her eyes tightly, and pressed her hand down to the ground, grasping the cobblestone through the mixed blood of her family. "May your passing through the Fade be safe and the Beyond be kind." She brought her hand to her lips reverently, and then gently touched her forehead and theirs. "Sister. Nephew."

"Elissa! Come on!" her mother called from out in the hallway.

She finally managed to close their eyes and straightened up, leaving the room without looking back. She knew she would give in to tears if she did.

"Should we...even dare hope for the safety of our guests?" her mother muttered bitterly as they neared the door leading to the rest of the castle.

"The situation could go either way," Elissa replied. "Howe could wish to destroy everyone here...or perhaps only the family. He might let the other nobles leave, if he can convince them not to say anything." At her mother's grim look, and the death of Iona still fresh, she snorted. "I don't think that's likely either."

Teryna Eleanor halted before the door leading out of the family living area and motioned for quiet. Elissa shifted her weight nervously as her mother listened. After a moment, the Teryna nodded resolutely. "There are four moving around out there. Two by this door, two farther away, probably guarding the exit. There might be more in the rooms themselves."

"Chances are there will be archers," Elissa said quietly. "The Amaranthine militia is known for them, if nothing else."

"I can take them out," her mother stated. "I need an opening, though."

"Garm and I can draw their attention," Elissa whispered.

"Do it quickly. And keep out of my line of fire."

After a few hand gestures to Garm to indicate what she wanted, and a nod to her mother, Elissa drew a deep breath and shoved through the door.

Her mother's estimates had been accurate. Two regular soldiers stood nearby, and two archers guarded the far door. At the door suddenly being thrown open, they all raised their weapons, but Garm had already pounced on the nearest foot soldier, dodging his blade and bowling his legs out from under him. Elissa rushed forward at the second one, leaving an opening for her mother to aim at the archer on the far left. Elissa brought down the pommel of her sword on her adversary's head with as much force as she could muster. The end came away bloody, skin and a bit of bone from his forehead sticking to it. His eyes gazed listlessly as he fell to the floor.

The twang of a bowstring made her raise her shield reflexively, and she only just caught an arrow from the other bowman on the edge of her shield. Moving forward from beneath it's cover, Elissa was vaguely aware of her mother finishing off her opponent and then putting the man Garm had savaged out of his misery.

The three of them advanced on the final archer, and soon he too sagged lifelessly on the floor.

"Check the guest rooms," the Teryna ordered, covering her from behind, and Elissa carefully investigated both quarters'.

Dairren's guest lodgings proved empty – Elissa had a sinking feeling that he had remained in the study all night to examine his precious books before battle – but Lady Landra's quarters revealed the latter's body, already soiled with blood and other fluids. Teryna Eleanor's loud lament bolstered Elissa's resolve once more, and made the voice in her head, the one telling her that she could just as easily die this night, grow louder and more insistent.

She felt rage sizzle within her at what Howe had done, but checked herself. How many times had Ser Trevelyan told her that anger could be as much hindrance as a help in a fight? If she was to beat back the intruders to her home, she would need her wits about her.

They passed through the narrow passageway from the living area without incident. A quick glance into the guard chambers revealed nothing but the corpse of a Highever knight whose face was so bloodied that Elissa couldn't even recognize him. The sounds grew louder as they turned the corridor that led toward the atrium and castle proper.

"Can you hear the fighting?" her mother asked in a hushed voice. "Howe's men must be everywhere!"

"Then we should take the fight to them!" Elissa growled.

"Don't be foolish," her mother retorted coldly. "You would throw your life away?"

"We can't just let Howe win!"

"Darling, we haven't much time," her mother told her urgently. "If we can't find your father, we must get you out of here alive. Without you and Fergus, the entire Cousland line dies here."

"That's not true, Aedan would –"

"A lot of good that will do us, with him en route to the Free Marches tonight, if Howe's men haven't decided to be thorough in their execution," her mother snapped, eyes glinting dangerously at Elissa. "If they are already inside here, they must control the castle. You must use the servants' entry in the larder to escape. Do you hear me?"

Elissa swallowed, thinking vaguely that she had planned to use the servants' entrance this night, but not under these circumstances. "Yes, Mother. But...we don't know it's true that they've breached everything. We might be able to push them back."

"Then we'll find out for ourselves," the Teryna decided. "But if Howe's trap has snapped shut, escaping may not be easy."

"Nothing will be easy tonight," Elissa replied. "Let's find Father. If anyone gets in our way..." She tightened her grip on her sword. "Do you think he's still in the main hall?"

"No – if he was awake when this happened, his first orders would have been to secure the front gates," her mother answered. "That's where he must be."

"All right," Elissa said, trying to think of anything she could do that would help. They would know the castle better than any intruders, which was a help, but Howe's men would have had time to find places to station themselves if the operation was well thought-out. She and her mother would have to proceed with caution. She started to leave, but her mother grasped her wrist. "Darling, promise me – if all this goes sour, get out. Find Fergus – and the other one, if you must – go to West Hill. You will have allies there who will help."

"Mother, we may yet beat them back –"

"Promise me, Elissa!"

She saw the resolve in her mother's eyes, and nodded. "I promise."

"Good," the Teryna relinquished her hand and motioned for her daughter to take the lead. "Let's go."

The smell of smoke was acrid in the air of the atrium. The open space usually made her feel less confined in the castle, but tonight it made the sky seem oppressive, a party to the betrayal which was happening at that moment. With every step, she forced her stunned mind to plan. The quickest way to the front gate was through the western passage, unless they cut through the main hall, which could be done from either direction. To the east were the kitchen and the servants' exit, which would possibly lead to freedom, but they had to find the Teryn first.

Passing through the atrium, they were just starting down the wide steps toward the main corridor, when the sound of fighting and yelling became louder. Interspersed with the steady clang of the bell was the barking of dogs. Garm responded to this sound with a snarl of his own, crouching low as he followed her as though preparing to spring at any canine interloper that he crossed paths with. As she neared the exit of the narrow passage, someone cried out, "The castle has fallen! I'm getting out of here!"

A servant came running from the western passage, staggering to a halt when he noticed Elissa and her mother. Anger and contempt snarled to a forefront within her, and she found herself stalking forward and barking at the man, "Don't be a coward! Stand and fight!"

She wasn't sure if it was his recognition of her or the clear command in her voice which stopped him, but the panicked look on his face changed to one of resolve. He shook his head as though to clear it, and nodded, "Y-yes, my lady."

The man drew a small dagger with a shaking hand, turning visibly paler at something she couldn't see. "H-here they come!"

"Ready, Mother?"

"Keep your shield up and your head down!" the Teryna said by way of an answer, already nocking her bow.

The Highever servant gave a fear-fueled cry and threw himself beyond Elissa's sight, just barely avoiding the path of an enemy mabari that leaped around the corner at her. Before it could reach her, though, Garm was on it; the snarls and snap of jaws were almost as loud as the clank of metal. The enemy hound was followed closely by two foot soldiers. The first went down with a shaft buried in his throat, but the second lunged at her, swinging overhand. She met his blade with her own, parried his next swing and jabbed at his middle, forcing him out of the narrow passage in an effort to give herself more room. As she fought, she noticed how clumsy his assaults were, and how he kept chopping at her as though his sword was an axe. The next time he did this, she sidestepped to the right and stabbed her sword in under his shield, slicing through leather, flesh and muscle. He yelled in pain as she pulled back, a gush of blood telling her she had hit the large artery in his upper arm.

A Highever soldier had just killed the last of the intruders to her left, and Garm had long since left his enemy mauled and stirring feebly. Now he loped to the mouth of the western passage to guard against another combatant coming around the corner.

Her mother half turned to her. "Pup, watch out!"

The Teryna loosed an arrow and Elissa heard a choked gurgle somewhere behind her. She whirled around just in time to see one of Howe's men drop, sword arm raised to kill. Three others were still coming forward, pouring out of the dining room.

The two men closest advanced on her, trying to box her in against the wall as her mother dealt with the third. The stone, slippery with blood, made it hard for Elissa to keep her stance strong. She considered both men, sizing up the bigger threat to her and then lunged forward, beating the first with her shield until he tripped backward over the slick floor. Whirling around, she caught the other's strike against her shield as he aimed for her back, lifting his sword up as she thrust her own into the part of his chest that was unprotected by his armour. She heard the first man getting to his feet, and without turning, swung her sword and shoved it behind her. There was a strangled gargle that told her she had hit her mark.

The sound of a body hitting the floor beside her told her that the Teryna had finished the other soldier as well.

She paused only long enough to take in the situation. The servant who had been about to defect was up ahead, sagging as he clasped a hand to a blossoming bloodstain on his shoulder. He had taken on a bowman that now lolled lifelessly against the stone wall.

"Arrow went straight through," he explained through gritted teeth when the Teryna went to examine him quickly. "It didn't hit anything vital, I don't think…"

"Can you still move it?"

"I – yes, your ladyship. It hurts, but I can still get some use out of it, I think."

"Here, I have a poultice that might make a bit of a difference…"

As her mother saw to the wound, the other Highever man approached them.

"The eastern passage is blocked from here, my lady," he told Elissa. "You'll have to go the other way."

"Of course," Elissa scowled, her eyes still on the corner that Garm was watching.

"The treasury is in that direction," the Teryna said, glancing up from her task. "The Cousland family blade lies inside – it cannot fall into Howe's hands."

"It won't," Elissa promised. "We'll go there now."

"We don't know how many of Howe's men have already breached the keep," her mother cautioned, "or where they'll be. We need to step carefully, pup."

"Any ideas?"

Her mother's mouth twisted into a grim imitation of a smile. "There's a good chance there are archers, so keep your shield up. I'll cover you from behind."

Elissa nodded, and turned her attention to the two men, frowning at the servant's weapon. "You'll need something better than that dagger." She grabbed a discarded sword and shield from a dead intruder and passed them up. "You have at least some training, yes?"

"Of course, my lady, but – "

"It will have to do while we get out of here," Elissa cut him off, and then addressed the soldier. "He's wounded, so you and I will pick up as much of the slack as we can. We need to get to the treasury. Garm will lead us, you two flank me."

She and her mother exchanged knowing glances, and an agreement passed between them. It wasn't the most intricate of plans, but they were short on time. Elissa was surprised Garm hadn't spotted any more of the intruders yet, but didn't question the brief reprieve. It was likely the last they would get for a while.

The soldiers hefted their weapons, as did the Teryna, and they took their places behind Elissa.

"Alright, Garm," Elissa said as she rounded the corner with her men, her shield held warily in front of her. "Let's kick these bastards out of our home, shall we?"

The western passage stretched out in front of her, and she managed to count two mabaris, a soldier and two archers in the distance. Arrows pelted against their shields as they ran forward, and the hounds immediately tore toward Garm. The one nearest to her staggered, momentarily slowed by one of the Teryna's arrows, but recovered before she could kill it. It jumped, teeth bared and claws spread to take Elissa down. She grunted with effort and stooped quickly out of its path, slicing it down the middle. It gave a tortured whine as it collapsed on the floor, its innards spilling out. While she was busy with the hound, her men had cornered the lone soldier and brought him down.

The servant suddenly fell, an arrow splitting through his temple. A sharp pain in her thigh told Elissa than one had grazed her as well. Garm and her remaining man were tearing down the hallway, while her mother walked coolly forward, rapidly arming and firing. One archer fell to her onslaught, the other to the combined forces of the soldier and her mabari.

"Here, darling, take my key," her mother said breathlessly, pulling something from around her neck even as she continued to watch the hallway. "I'll cover you."

There was no sign that any of the invaders had made it into the vault. Elissa shoved her mother's iron key through the lock and twisted, pushing open the door with a grunt. Still watching the passage way, her mother backed into the treasury and kept her bow aimed at the entrance.

It took only moments to strip the place of the most useful weapons, and Elissa traded her dull sword for the older, polished one from the family chest. The enchanted blade had been wielded by her ancestors four centuries earlier in the service of King Calenhad.

"And I swear by those ancestors that it will take the life of Rendon Howe for his treachery," she promised silently, reaching for one of the Highever shields as well. It was only a little less uncomfortable than the one she had carried before, but she would have to make do.

She had barely finished fitting her arm through the targe when the Highever soldier cried out. A sword blade had sliced down between his neck and shoulder. Two Howe soldiers stormed in from the hall, one of them kicking the man's body aside as they entered.

"Pup, get down!" the Teryna yelled, loosing a flurry of arrows.

Elissa kept low as she barrelled toward the men. She thrust out at the first man with her shield, crushing his windpipe, but as she turned she felt the lightning burst of pain across her back as the second caught her with his sword. Luckily, the armour caught most of the strike. Gritting her teeth, she caught the man's second blow with her shield. It caused bruising pain to reverberate all up her arm, but she lifted it and the blade overhead. This allowed her access to his front. She shoved her sword forward, slicing through his neck with ease. She didn't see where the head rolled and stepped around the Highever soldier's body as she led her mother from the treasury.

The loudest sound of fighting was coming from the main hall, and Elissa felt a momentary panic at the thought that her father might be inside. Although the Teryn was a good hand with a sword, Howe's treachery would have taken him off guard. He might have been wounded, or even killed before he understood what was going on.

Any hesitation she might have felt disappeared as she dove through the doorway. She felt her heart sink at the odds – Ser Gilmore and three Highever soldiers were being pushed back by at least seven of Howe's men. The forms of half a dozen Highever soldiers, dead and unconscious, littered the floor. Two enemy archers were stationed by either side of the main gate, which was barred but showing signs of give. Between the archers, a lone woman was aiming a rather large staff – 'Andraste's knickers, that's a mage!' Elissa thought, momentarily panicked. 'I was never trained to fight against magic!'

As though her thoughts had been shouted, the woman turned toward her. She yelled something unintelligible and a burst like lightening issued from the rod.

Elissa managed to dodge it, but the illumination from the attack had literally shed light on their presence.

One of the Howe regulars closest to the giant hearth felled a Highever man and advanced on her, sword raised and shield up.

"Move!" she ordered her mother and Garm, sidestepping away from the centre of the melee. Garm made a dash for one of the bowmen by the door, while the Teryna followed him, yelling, "We must take out the mage!"

"A bit busy right now!" Elissa called back, dodging the downward chop of her opponent. She swept her sword out at an angle. There was a feeling akin to hacking through a chord of wood as her blade arced between the wrist and forearm, and moments later the hand holding the sword lay at her feet. The man screamed in pain, and using his momentary distraction, she jabbed her sword through his collar bone.

There was a vague sense of movement to her right, and she automatically pulled back, spinning to face this new threat. The man lunged at her with a yell and an overhand cut that she deflected with ease before thrusting her sword beneath his armpit.

"I guess I should be thankful that Howe's too cheap to train his men properly," she thought furiously as she moved on to her next opponent. One of the archers was dead, and the second determinedly fending of Garm's snapping jaws. The Teryna was attempting to get a shot on the mage, but one of the men Roderick had been fighting broke away and tried to strike her down from behind.

"Mother!" Elissa yelled, reacting without thought. She kicked the hand that still gripped the sword across the floor, lifting it with her toe so that it made a clumsy arc across the hall. The Teryna dropped down, letting her bow fall with a clatter and grabbed the weapon. She did not even pause to unwrap the bloody appendage as she swung upward, slicing through between the man's thigh and pelvis.

Elissa had no time to feel any triumph for her mother, as something hit her from behind, sending a painful jolt of energy through her. She staggered, nearly falling into the path of a downward arcing blade. There were four of Howe's men left, as well as the woman wielding spells; Roderick was fighting off two at the same time, while a Cousland regular beat back a third as his comrade knelt on the ground, clasping a gaping wound in his abdomen. The remaining Howe soldier lunged again and Elissa moved backward, trying to put some space between them. Her escape route was cut off as a sizzling white bolt soared toward her, putting her back in the path of her latest attacker.

"Not my daughter, you apostate slut!" she heard her mother snarl, and was vaguely aware of the Teryna closing in on the woman. She had pried the hand loose and now gripped the weapon in bloodstained hands.

Elissa's assailant landed a glancing blow on her with his shield, and the entire right side of her skull exploded with pain. She tasted copper as she bit her tongue and her stomach revolted, but somehow she remained standing. 'If he had been just a little stronger…'

She couldn't dwell on it, because he was coming back for another attempt. Her mother, Garm, and Roderick now surrounded the mage, who, despite a bleeding gash from shoulder to arm, still stood strong. She snarled, and suddenly a chain of lightening burst outward, throwing her attackers to the ground. At Elissa's cry of dismay, the witch whirled around and threw another discharge of energy that nearly sent her sprawling. She waited for the next assault, but it never came as the woman shrieked in pain. Garm had recovered and sank his teeth into her leg.

Elissa's attacker's movements took on a note of desperation now, as though he realized the tide of this skirmish was turning. His blows became more frequent, but with their increased speed they also became clumsier.

Aedan's lesson fresh in her mind, she swept low, clumsily jutting out a leg. It caught the man behind his knee, and he toppled. She wasted no time jumping up and driving the sword downward through the unprotected part of his chest.

And then she was on the ground herself. She seized as energy crackled through her body, and her vision swam. Writhing on the floor, she tried to turn herself to face the attack, but even this movement made the bile rise in her throat. When she thought she couldn't take it any longer, the assault stopped. She dragged herself to her feet, looking out through a haze of pain.

The mage was backed into a corner now, her robe stained red. Garm lay sprawled on the floor, shaking off the same spell that Elissa battled, and the Teryna hung back as well. Only Roderick appeared to have been able to fight the spell, and he gave a loud cry as he charged for the last time. The woman's voice joined his, a sound of rage and resignation, and she visibly drew the last of her power into her as his sword descended, obviously intent on taking him with her –

Light danced in front of Elissa's eyes as the shock flowed throughout the room.

'Maker, if I live through this,' she thought, desperately trying to cling to consciousness, 'I will always take out the mages first…'

"For Highever!" Roderick bellowed, and the woman's scream abruptly cut off. The pulsing sensation disappeared and Elissa's vision cleared. The sounds of immediate battle had lessened and her awareness rushed back to her.

"My lady!" another voice called, and one of the Highever soldiers was helping her to her feet.

The rest of the enemy had been dealt with, and Roderick stood over the decapitated body of the mage, yelling orders to the remaining Highever soldiers, some of whom were only just shaking off unconsciousness. "Go! Man the gates! Keep those bastards out as long as you can!"

The soldiers now braced themselves against the heavy door that led out of the castle.

"Darling, are you alright?" her mother asked her, appearing from behind. Her wide eyes told Elissa what she must look like. The Teryna reached out a comforting hand, but Elissa shook her head slowly. The movement jarred painfully, and she quickly stopped.

"I'm fine," she croaked, fighting back the painful stinging reminder of the mage's spell, as well as the throbbing ache in her head. Blood from the wound above her right temple trickled down the side of her face and down her jaw. "You can patch me up later."

Her mother continued to look worried for a moment, and then smiled sadly. "A far cry from the little girl who wanted me to kiss her hurts better after training practice."

"I haven't done that since I was eleven!" Elissa protested weakly.

"Your ladyship! My lady!" Roderick had caught sight of them and hurried over. "You're both alive! I was certain Howe's men had gotten through!"

"They did get through," Elissa stated grimly.

"They killed Oren...and Oriana," the Teryna faltered, and then visibly pulled herself together. "We are alive. What of you – are you injured?"

"Don't worry about me, your ladyship," Roderick said, dismay at the news clear in his eyes. "Thank the Maker that you two are unharmed. When I realized what was happening, it was all I could do to shut the gates. But it won't keep Howe's men out long. If you have another way out of the castle, use it quickly."

Her mother's expression set in grim acceptance, and she nodded meaningfully to Elissa.

'So we are to run from the fight after all,' Elissa thought in frustration and clenched her fists. It wasn't that she was eager to die in battle, but the anger at Howe's betrayal fired her blood. She wanted nothing more than to fight through his soldiers and go after him herself, however impulsive that desire was. All around her, the soldiers were fighting and dying to give them a little more time, and she could do nothing to help them. She knew it was their sworn duty, but she felt guilty and angry all the same. None of this would have happened had a supposed friend not shown his true colors.

She narrowed her eyes as a thought suddenly occurred to her. "Where's the Grey Warden?"

Roderick appeared taken aback at the seemingly unrelated comment. "I don't know. You don't think he's involved in this, do you?"

"Perhaps he..." the Teryna faltered, and forced herself to continue, "Perhaps he was sent to kill Bryce? Oh dear – have you seen him?"

"When I last saw the Teryn, he had been badly wounded," Roderick said anxiously. Elissa felt the bottom drop out of her stomach at this. "I told him not to go, but he was determined to find you. He went towards the kitchen. I believe he thought to find you at the servant's exit in the larder."

A modicum of hopefulness returned to Elissa, and she exchanged glances with her mother. The Teryna nodded and placed a gentle hand on Roderick's shoulder. "Bless you, Ser Gilmore. Maker watch over you."

"Maker watch over us all," he replied in a resigned tone, and Elissa suddenly realized that Roderick intended to fight until the last of his strength gave way. Her eyes burned, and before she followed her mother to the eastern door of the main hall, she embraced her friend quickly.

"Thank you for this," she whispered, brushing her lips against his bloodstained cheek. "If I get out, I will never forget you."

"It has been an honour to know you, my lady," he told her earnestly, and she could hear the truth and sadness mixed in his tone.

She ran from the room, not looking back. She could hear him yelling at the other soldiers, "Give the Teryn time to escape!"

Her mother had strapped the dead man's sword to her waist and taken up her bow again. At her nod, Elissa opened the door to the eastern passage.

They hadn't gone far when they came upon two Howe soldiers advancing on a Highever man. The Teryna's arrows took them both down. The soldier whirled around in surprise, and recognizing them, called out, "Where is the Teryn? Does he live?"

"We're going to find out!" Elissa replied, motioning Garm up the eastern passage.

"The castle is lost, I'm afraid," the Teryna told him. "Howe's men will soon overwhelm the main gate. Either make your stand here or find a way out."

"Your ladyship," the man bowed shortly, and then ran past them to the main hall. Elissa exchanged a look with her mother, and they hurried onward. They had just turned into the passage leading to the kitchen, when the Teryna cried out.

"Pup, watch out!"

She was nearly too late to react to the warning, as the swish of a heavy blade went down where her shoulder had been. Whirling around, she felt the blood rush from her face at the sight of the large man who faced her. That he was a knight was obvious from his carriage and armour, as well as the choice of weapons – a giant maul larger than anything she had ever seen outside of a tournament. There were three soldiers behind him, already on the attack. 'So much for not having any trained men…'

Elissa threw herself forward to knock the man back as he raised his maul. She practically bounced off of his armour, but stayed on her feet even as he recovered.

"Are you mad?" her mother yelled, even as she fired upon the nearest foot-soldier as he tried to hit Elissa from behind. "He's twice as big as you are!"

"D'you fancy trying to take him out with a bow then?" Elissa snapped furiously, dodging another heavy swing. Garm wove around the two remaining soldiers, knocking them into each other. Elissa stepped back into the eastern passage, leading the knight after her. When he tried to swing at the Teryna as she pursued her own opponent, Elissa kicked at him, forcing him to keep his attention on her.

Her mind raced. Her exercises had always been primarily with the sword, but old Trevelyan had occasionally brought in soldiers who fought with war hammers and axes. Not near frequently enough for her to have mastered the weapons, but she knew their capabilities. Preferred in close-combat, mauls were used to penetrate heavy armour, and unless the blow was properly dealt, didn't usually cause critical harm. Except she wasn't wearing heavy armour, and from the look of the knight's bulk, one hit from the maul in the wrong place would cripple or kill her. 'But no pressure.'

The knight roared and lunged at her, and she had to move quickly.

'His only weakness is that he's slower than me,' she thought. This was true both because he was larger than she, bogged down with armour and holding such a heavy weapon. A seasoned fighter with a larger sword would have made short work of him through speed and skill alone. As it was, she needed to think of another way to fight him with sword and shield.

Her mother and Garm were busy. The Teryna had dropped her bow again and now wielded the borrowed sword, meeting her adversary's swings with determination. The man she had taken out before clutched at the shafts that protruded from his chest. Garm circled, teeth glistening in the light of the flames as though daring the man before him to come closer.

Elissa's knight feinted forward a few times, laughing tauntingly when she stepped back each time. Still, she didn't allow herself to be drawn into a direct attack. He would easily sweep her aside if she tried. When he came at her in earnest with a flurry of sweeping chops, she felt her stomach clench. Her estimate of his speed being affected by the heaviness of armour and weaponry had been slightly off. He barely paused between swings, leaving her very little time to get in under his guard.

'And me without a greatsword,' she thought. 'Wish I had a ballista.'

As he bent to swipe at her again, she had a sudden idea. His full armour was impenetrable from the front, but from behind he would have some weak spots, especially behind the joints of the armour. She needed to get behind him somehow.

'Easier said than done!'

Several times she tried to jump around him, but the deliberate swing of the maul kept her from pursuing that course. She needed to upset his rhythm somehow, she knew, but it wouldn't be as easy as tripping his legs out from under him. He'd need a more direct onslaught.

She waited until he raised his weapon to its highest point and darted forward, barreling at him with her shield in an attempt to put him off balance. The force of her assault did interrupt the path of his maul, but the knight had rooted himself, dropping his weight to keep her from bowling him over. He laughed and butted her backwards with his chest, and she quickly took up her stance again.

Not soon enough.

He cut downward at her, and she wasn't able to move out of the way. Just in time, she caught his blow with her shield. It forced her to her knees and caused her arm to go numb with pain. The second blow cracked the shield, and the wave of agony as her arm broke made her cry out.

They had come to the point in the fight when the lesser fighter would soon give out, and a harsh voice in her mind told her that she was the lesser in this battle. Unless she could stand and fight, she was about to die. The sharp throb of her arm told her she was not going to manage much longer.

Glaring defiantly, she raised her sword to guard against the fatal blow that was coming, her shield arm hanging uselessly beside her. The knight looked down at her victoriously, raising his maul for the third and final strike and she forced her eyes open. She would stare death in the face.

The knight suddenly gave a startled grunt as something caused him to fall forward, and then he shrieked as a blade sliced through the unprotected backs of his legs. Garm's hulking form pressed the man down to the cobbles, knocking his helmet off. Elissa saw her mother, who was crouched, her sword just completing the swing that had sliced the man's Achilles tendons.

Elissa lost no time. Swinging her sword with her good arm, she cried out and sliced her sword forward, severing the knight's head.

She faltered for a moment, panting. Her entire left side felt almost numb with pain. She gritted her teeth as her mother hurried forward and slowly removed the shield.

"Can you move it at all?"

"I'm pretty sure it's broken," Elissa gasped as the Teryna examined the injury gingerly.

"The bone hasn't come through the skin, so that's something," the Teryna said. "The shield took the brunt of the blow."

"Yes," Elissa agreed, wiping blood out of her eye with her good hand. Garm was standing by her now, licking her face and nudging her to her feet. She hissed as she moved, considering their surroundings. "Think there are any more?"

"Not in here, but outside the gates…" her mother trailed off, and shook her head. "It's time we leave, pup. We'll find your father and flee the keep."

"But…this is our home," Elissa whispered in a small voice. To anyone else it would have seemed a pithy thing in comparison to escaping with their lives, but her mother understood what she meant.

"And we will return to it," she told her firmly. "But we can only do that if we live through the night. Now come on, Ser Gilmore said your father was hurt."

Elissa gritted her teeth and nodded. It pained her to admit defeat, but her mother was right. They needed to get out.

The way to the kitchen was empty of men, although the walls were ruined in some places, tongues of fire lapping at the beams she had thought were so strong. Her arm throbbed, but she didn't say anything to her mother about it. Even the medicinal materials she had in her pack would not set a broken arm; she would need a healer for that. Luckily it seemed she was the worst off of the bunch. Her mother sported some light grazes, from when an enemy soldier had gotten too close, but seemed fine otherwise. Garm was covered in blood and favouring his right side, but he grinned toothily at her as they went, and she knew he was proud of his handiwork.

The kitchen was empty but for the two kitchen elves that served Nan, and one of them screamed when the Teryna opened the door. "Maker help us, we're all going to die!"

They both took off. Before she could call them back or tell them to flee through the servants' entrance, they had run from the larder and into the burning night. Elissa found herself wondering idly if Mithra had managed to escape, or if she too lay dead somewhere in the castle.

Elissa stopped herself from thinking the worst, trying to focus. Her mother was already at the door leading to the larder, and Elissa followed her through.

And then suddenly, there was her father.

He was crumpled on the cold stone, clutching his side from which an impossible amount of blood spurted. When he saw them, relief blossomed on his pale features, and he gasped, "There...you both are...I was...wondering...when you...would get here..."

"Bryce!" her mother cried, throwing herself forward and pressing her own hands to the Teryn's wounds. "Maker's blood, what's happening? You're bleeding!"

"Howe's men," the Teryn whispered, and Elissa's heart felt like it was being shredded at the sight of her proud, strong father crumpled on the floor like a used rag. She knelt beside him, for the first time that night not having any idea of what to do. Garm whined and nudged the Teryn's head lightly with his nose. "Found me...first...almost...did me in right there..."

"Where's Howe?" Elissa questioned.

Her father shook his head. "We were…talking…one of the watchmen…said Howe's men were coming. Howe…went to speak…with his general…next thing I knew…"

The Ternya swore loudly. "I'll kill the blighted bastard myself!"

"Why's Howe doing this?" Elissa asked. "Even if he managed to kill us all, with Fergus and Aedan safely away, it's not as though his betrayal won't be discovered – and dealt with!"

Even as she said it, she felt doubt rise up. If Howe was depraved enough to massacre a child, like Oren, he would not hesitate to send assassins after the rest of the Couslands.

"He can't...get away with this...the king...ungh..."

"Bryce!" her mother was weeping openly now, despite her former attempts to remain calm. "We must get you out of here."

"I...I won't survive the standing...I think."

"That's not true," Elissa whispered weakly, no longer able to hold back the tears that blurred her vision. "You'll be fine."

"Ah...my darling girl," he tried to laugh, "if only will could make it so."

"Once Howe's men break through the gate, they will find us," the Teryna said urgently.

"Someone...must reach Fergus," the Teryn answered, almost in agreement. "...tell him what happened."

"Bryce, please," her mother cried. "The servant's passage is right here – we can flee together! Find you healing magic!"

"The castle is surrounded," her father shook his head. "I...cannot make it."

"Father, no..." Elissa hissed, tears trailing down her cheeks. "I'll...I'll carry you. Both of us will. We'll get you out of here –"

There was a clatter from behind. Garm was up in a crouch, growling a threat, and Elissa raised her sword, but her father weakly stayed her hand. The Grey Warden strode through the door from the kitchen, his tunic and armour covered in blood. He sheathed his sword behind him. "I'm afraid the Teryn is correct. Howe's men have not yet discovered this exit. But they surround the castle. Getting past will be difficult."

"Duncan?" the Teryna managed, doubt and suspicion still plain on her face. Elissa signaled to the mabari to stay.

"Yes, your ladyship," he inclined his head, and Elissa found herself thinking grimly that there was something to be said for a man who could be polite even in the middle of a crisis. "The Teryn and I tried to reach you sooner."

"My daughter helped me get here. Maker be praised."

"I'm not surprised," the man said, looking at Elissa with the same inscrutable expression.

Elissa bowed her head at him. "Thank you for saving my father."

"I fear your thanks are premature," he told her bluntly, his words iron daggers to her heart. "I doubt I have saved him."

"Whatever is to be done now, it must be quick," the Teryna declared. "They are coming."

"Duncan..." the Teryn groaned, "I beg you. Take my wife and daughter to safety."

"Father, no..."

"I will, your lordship," the Warden answered. "But I fear I must ask for something in return."

Anger welled back up inside her, and Elissa opened her mouth to castigate the Warden for blackmailing a dying man, but her father managed to speak first. "Anything!"

"What is happening here pales in comparison to the evil now loose in this world," Duncan said willfully. "I came to your castle seeking a recruit. The darkspawn threat demands that I leave with one."

"I...I understand."

Elissa believed she did too, and spoke quickly, trying to forestall the decision. "What if something has happened to Fergus?"

"The king will see justice done," Duncan promised her. "The Grey Wardens, however, must face the darkspawn above all else."

"It is...right, pup," her father assured her, seeing the expression on her face.

"I will take the Teryna and your daughter to Ostagar to tell the king what has happened," Duncan vowed. "Then your daughter joins the Grey Wardens."

Her mother moaned in grief, but Elissa's father was steadfast. "So long as justice comes to Howe. I agree."

Duncan looked her squarely in the eye. "I offer you a place with the Grey Wardens. Fight with us."

Elissa froze. She was aware that all of her dreams were being handed to her right now – everything that she had wanted not hours before seemed in her grasp, and all she needed to do was say 'yes'. But the sight of her father bleeding out onto the stone and her mother kneeling by him, powerless to help gave her pause. She felt the bitter realization that if it had meant to save her father's life – if giving up her dreams could have saved them, she would.

"My duty is to take vengeance on Arl Howe," she croaked.

"We will inform the king and he will punish Howe," Duncan said, sounding impatient. "I am sorry, but a Grey Warden's duties take precedence over vengeance."

"Howe thinks he'll use the chaos to advance himself," her father spat. Blood was beginning to run down the corner of his mouth. "Make him wrong, pup. See that justice is done."

He grasped her hand as tightly as his weakened state would allow. Even in the dimness of the larder, she saw his eyes shining with fire, beseeching and confident at the same time. It was like a searing iron on her heart, and she felt shame begin to choke her from the inside. He wouldn't be so trustful, with so much faith in her if he had known what she had planned. If he had known that she would have run away from the castle the first chance she got, she knew he wouldn't be looking at her as though she was his last hope.

'Maker, I'm so sorry,' she thought desperately. 'This isn't how this was supposed to happen!'

"Our family…always does our duty first," he murmured. "The darkspawn must be defeated. You must go. For your own sake…and for Ferelden."

At first, no sound came from her as she tried to reply. Her voice cracked as tears strangled her, but she finally managed to whisper, "I will, Father. For you."

"We must leave quickly, then," Duncan said, already nudging her to her feet and causing her to relinquish her father's hand.

"Bryce, are you...sure?" her mother asked, voice trembling.

"Our daughter will not die of Howe's treachery. She will live. And make her mark on the world."

The Teryna bowed her head for a long beat, and then looked up at Elissa. There was pain in her eyes, but also a steely resolve that made Elissa's skin prickle. "Darling, go with Duncan. You have a better chance to escape without me."

She gaped wordlessly.

"Eleanor..." her father attempted, but her mother put a finger to his lips. "Hush, Bryce. I'll kill every bastard that comes through the door to buy them time. But I won't abandon you."

"No!" Elissa cried, the sudden possibility that she would lose both of her parents in one night looming near. Something akin to hysteria threatened to overtake her. "We can find another way! We can fight!"

"So we can all die?" her mother asked her sadly. "No. Your place is now with the Grey Wardens. Mine is with your father. At his side, until death and beyond."

"No..." Elissa sobbed, even as Duncan began to move her away from them. She barely noticed the sting from her arm. "This can't...you can't...please..."

"My...I'm so sorry...it's come to this, my love," her father muttered softly to her mother.

"We had a good life," Teryna Eleanor said firmly, both to her husband and her daughter. "And we did all we could. It's up to our children now."

"Then...go, pup," her father's voice was becoming garbled now, as though his lungs were filling with fluid. "Warn your brother." A shuddering creak from above made even the walls of the larder shake. "Know that we love you both. You'll do us proud."

Elissa threw herself forward, trying to kiss and hold her parents for as long as she could, but there was a hand on her shoulder, yanking her away from them. "They've broken through the gates! We must go now!"

He hauled her toward the stairs, the movement jarring her injured arm, but she clenched her jaw defiantly. The last sight she had of her parents was her mother cradling the Teryn in her lap as he suddenly shuddered and went still.

"Don't slow down," Duncan ordered when he noticed the falter in her step, steering her down the narrow passage. His tone made Garm rumble at him warningly, but he either didn't notice or care.

"How are we going to escape?" she asked, not really concerned about the answer but hoping it would take her mind from the dire situation. She needed to focus on practical matters if she wasn't going to dissolve into an inconsolable pile of grief.

"Head for the forest. We can lose any pursuers in the trees for a while."

"They have mabari as well," she pointed out. "They'll be able to follow our trail with ease."

"Is there are stream or a river in there?"

Childhood memories of catching frogs and collecting smooth stones from the riverbed came to a forefront in her mind, but she shook them off and nodded. "Yes, about three kilometers on."

"We'll hide our scent that way," he told her. "We can travel a considerable distance in the water before crossing to the other side. It will confuse them enough to give us time."

"Time to what?" she snapped. "We'll still be on foot on that side of the stream as well. And Howe's men will probably have horses by then."

As he opened the door to the passage, moonlight glinted across part of his face, and Elissa saw a grim smile was on his lips. "You'll learn that the life of a Warden is ever perilous. It's always best to have a back-up plan, even when going into what seems a sure situation." At her confused look, he added, "Before arriving here I stopped in Summerside –" he had named a village that was close to Highever, "– and left two horses there. If all went well here, I was going to leave on the horse I brought with me and the man watching over them in Summerside could keep them. As it is, he'll have to settle with coin instead."

"How do you know he hasn't already sold them and run off?" she demanded, impressed with his foresight despite herself.

There was a dangerous glint in Duncan's eyes as they sprinted toward the forest. "I was very persuasive."

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

Genuine apologies to you readers, this was supposed to be up last Monday, but unfortunately life tends to get in the way. If I'm ever late updating, check out my profile page because that's where I let everyone know why something is delayed and whatnot. This time both my beta and I were in the middle of school deadlines and couldn't stay on schedule, but we're back to regular updates now. Come December, I would like to update twice a week, but we'll have to see how our schedules work.

As usual, I'd like to say a heartfelt thanks to Cobar713 for his time and dedication in editing my work. Although this time I only got hit with a wooden spoon once, so that's something at least.

Happy Thanksgiving to all my American readers out there,

EC


	5. Chapter Five

_**Battle Maiden**_  
>by ErtheChilde<p>

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>My father once told me that adventure is just someone else knee-deep in shite far from home. Maker, but I wish I had listened to him."<br>**_

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Five:<em>

Duncan glanced up sharply as Elissa sagged against the horse she was saddling, a hiss of pain escaping her clenched jaw. He smothered a curse, realizing that he had been so preoccupied with their flight that he hadn't even realized the girl was seriously injured.

"You're hurt," he stated, leaving his own horse to look her over.

She backed away from him instinctively. The hound at her side, sensing a threat, crouched low and growled at him in warning.

Duncan paused, and speaking quietly yet determinedly, he said, "I need to check how bad it is. Why didn't you say anything before?"

"You – we're in a hurry," she grunted as he stepped forward again. The dog continued to growl, but allowed him to come closer. "Didn't – want to slow us down –"

She tried to jerk away from him again.

"Stay still," he commanded, grasping her arm gently but firmly. She remained tense, but allowed him to examine it. A string of curses paraded through his mind as he carried out a quick, insistent inspection, not only of her arm but the rest of her. He had thought the angrily bleeding welt across the side of her head was the worst damage – a concussion, perhaps, something easily dealt with once they managed to get farther away from Highever – but in addition to this, there were several deeper grazes where her gear hadn't covered her. Her arm was broken in at least two places, which rendered his own minor medicinal abilities useless. If it had been a simple fracture, he could have set it himself, but with something as complicated as this, they would need a healer.

"How did that happen?" he asked as he dug into his packsaddle for some elfroot and deep mushroom. They would at least do away with a bit of the swelling.

"One of the bastards had a maul," she told him through gritted teeth.

He was impressed, despite himself. He knew several grown men who would be moaning and cursing at such a wound, but she was rather calm. Although this confirmed at least some of the things he had heard about the Cousland girl, he wished she had spoken sooner.

"Come on," he told her. "You can't travel like that."

Her eyes were defiant, but she didn't argue. She and the mabari, which was limping, followed him.

Most villages had a healer, and Summerside was no different. The lateness of the hour and urgency of the errand made secrecy and a little bit of extra coin necessary, but Duncan paid this no heed. If they left the girl's arm the way it was, it could get infected and never heal properly. She would be useless to the Grey Wardens, and given how much had been sacrificed for her to be there, it was something that could not even be considered.

'Maybe not completely useless, though,' he thought, studying her more carefully. 'I've known men who have lost limbs and kept fighting for years afterward. She strikes me as one of the stubborn ones.'

And the country needed as many Grey Wardens as it could get.

The task Duncan had been given almost two decades earlier – build up the Warden forces in Ferelden – was one that was both essential and gruelling. Despite King Maric Theirin's decree allowing the Wardens to return to his kingdom, the group itself was not well-known, nor held in high regard by the majority of the people. Even the Right of Conscription, which Duncan had occasioned to use, meant almost nothing here. In a backwater village, where the king was but an abstract idea to the average peasant, it was often hard to convince people how important a force to combat so-called mythological creatures was.

Even without the hostility toward the order, choosing recruits for the Wardens was not as easy as drafting men into the army. Anyone could be a soldier, if only just to play the role of fodder to the enemy. Potential Wardens had to bring something to the table, whether it was skills or strength or character, before they were even considered. Even when they had these desired qualities, there was never a guarantee that they would survive the ritual. Sometimes it was over a year between successful Joinings.

During his tenure in Ferelden, Duncan had met dozens of men and women who had fit the qualities of what the Wardens were looking for. Sadly, very few were worthy. Some he could tell just by looking them in the eyes that they would never live past the Joining. He tried to leave these ones to their lives, unwilling to have the ritual destroy them when they might do some other good. It was a certain mettle that made up a recruit.

This wasn't to say that he had never found anyone worthy of the order. He was discriminatory in his choosing, and because of this his candidates nearly always lived through the Joining. The problem was that these candidates were so few and far between that as it stood, Ferelden's Wardens rarely totalled over two dozen. The numbers fluctuated; foreign Wardens were often sent from Weisshaupt, and native Fereldens sometimes went abroad. Most died in service. Being a Warden did not necessarily mean dying by the hand of a darkspawn, especially not outside of a Blight; accidents and tragedy still happened.

Only in the past five years since Maric's son Cailan had ascended the throne had Duncan's task improved somewhat. The king's enthusiasm and admiration for the Wardens was well-known. With his fervent support, the number of volunteers and recruits increased. Sadly, few were anywhere near the calibre needed for the Wardens, but the change in attitude boded well. Duncan felt sure that the next Warden-Commander would have an easier time of finding recruits than he ever had.

For months now he had felt the strange hum at the back of his mind, a sound and feeling that filled him with curiosity and dread. Occasionally, especially at night when he wrestled with the nightmares that had played in the background of his thoughts for so many years, the hum drowned out even the constant presence of the darkspawn. At these times he was acutely aware of the taint within him, and of how every pulse of his heart pushed the foulness through his veins. His time was coming, he knew, and although he had told Alistair of it in a calm manner, inside he was terrified. He knew what would happen to him if he did not die before the taint took over. He had seen it in the past, and had promised himself long ago that he would fall upon his own sword before letting the darkness within take over…

He would not think of such things now. His attention needed to be on the newest recruit.

He had had a profitable year in terms of recruits. There had been Tearlach, a duellist from the village of Castlemore near Kinloch Hold, who joined at the beginning of the year. Then there was Tarimel, a Dalish elf who had been cast out by his people after running away with a human that eventually died in childbirth. And of course there was Alistair – Duncan's thoughts lightened at the thought of the newest Warden.

Eight months before, the Arl of Redcliffe had held a tournament to honor the Grey Wardens. One of the participants was a young man training to be a Templar, who Duncan had been keeping an eye on for many years. Although he had been hesitant to conscript Alistair into the order, knowing what the future would hold for him, other factors changed his mind. He had gotten to know the lad, well enough to understand that the Chantry was no place for him. Alistair was a good soul, loyal, engaging in humour and temperament, and strong in his beliefs. He reminded Duncan a lot of old King Maric. He was also absolutely miserable in the Chantry.

Alistair's Joining was delayed, first by the Grand Cleric trying to call the Right of Conscription into question, and then by King Cailan, who apparently had his own plans for the Templar in training. Duncan had managed to talk the king out of them, but the incident had made him wary. Cailan had never before shown an overt interest in Alistair's activities, and although the matter was settled once Alistair took his Joining two months later, Duncan continued to have his own suspicions.

He quelled these qualms when they threatened to rise up again. It was not his business. The Grey Wardens catered to all of Thedas, not just one kingdom. His interest in politics was never meant to move past what a kingdom could do to support the order – even if the newest Warden just happened to be Cailan's half-brother.

He shook his head, putting it out of his mind. Instead, he wondered what Alistair would think of the new recruits. He was a good fellow to give an honest judgment on a person's character, and there had been some nights where Duncan had all but been rolling on the floor with laughter at the frank opinions the young man gave on the other Wardens.

Finding three more such promising candidates so late in the year was heartening, especially in light of the onset of the Blight. Three months earlier he had been en route to consider the child of an old friend in Denerim who was said to be talented with daggers despite Alienage law. Instead, he had found himself the target of a clumsy pickpocket. The thief had fled when Duncan noticed him, but inadvertently gained the attention of the city guard. When he heard that the young man was to be hanged for repeated offenses, Duncan had invoked the Right of Conscription. He supposed he saw a lot of himself in Daveth – the defensive attitude and personality hardened by the need to survive was one he was personally familiar with. The man had talent, too; Duncan knew that if he hadn't spent enough of his own youth picking pockets in Val Royaux he never would have noticed the sensation of someone pulling the same tricks on him. He hoped that the Wardens would give Daveth a second chance and develop the youth's latent talents.

Then, barely a fortnight ago, at the tournament held by one of the banns in Highever, Duncan found his next recruit. Ser Jory was a rare discovery – as talented with a blade as, if not more so than, the famed Ser Kalvin of Redcliffe – and a Warden enthusiast to boot. He was married, which Duncan privately disapproved of given the nature of the Grey Wardens, but as it had precedent, he kept his own recriminations on the subject out of the decision process. He had been ready to leave for Ostagar, when he had recognized Ser Arman Trevelyan in the crowd.

Trevelyan was one of the few men at the Denerim court who did not ascribe to General Loghain Mac Tir's dislike of the Grey Wardens. In his youth he had travelled outside of Ferelden and met several that he still spoke about with great respect, and so always took the opportunity to share a word with Duncan when they met. As it was, Duncan liked the gnarled old man who, despite the pockmarks and wrinkles of age still carried himself like a fighter. He was a hard man to cross, according to what was said of him, and if he hadn't been nearing sixty when they first met, Duncan would have been apt to recruit the swordsmaster to the Wardens then.

The last he had heard, Trevelyan had been hired to look in on the condition of the guards in Highever. If anyone knew any men that could be suitable for recruitment, Trevelyan would.

And he hadn't disappointed.

"Ser Gilmore is a safe choice," the old man had said thoughtfully, massaging his chin. "He's the one who tilted against Ser Talrew and still managed to stay on his horse," Duncan nodded at the description. "Anyhow, he's loyal, able-bodied and has a good reputation throughout the Coastlands, which would be a benefit to the Order."

Duncan sensed a 'but', and raised his eyebrow inquiringly.

"He's got no imagination," the old swordsmaster sighed. "Maker knows I tried to encourage one, but the lad exists only to follow orders. You could do worse than him, don't get me wrong, but I know what Grey Wardens sometimes have to do."

Duncan's mood darkened momentarily in agreement. There were times when intimidation and deception did more than selfless deeds, and a knight who was too tightly wound to the Code of Chivalry might not be flexible enough to know when either was appropriate.

"I'll see him myself before I decide," Duncan told the older man. "Anyone else?"

"I dunno about any _men_,' the wizened man said, old scars making his grim smile seem like a sneer, "but the Teryn's daughter might be of interest to you. She's been in Denerim with the Teryna over the summer, but is to return before the Highever forces march to Ostagar."

"Oh?" Duncan inquired politely. It was his experience that most of Ferelden's noblewomen considered fighting arts to be base and undignified, to be left to the commoners while they remained protected behind their husbands and father's walls. When he thought about it, though, it was not the first he had heard of the Teryn's daughter. While in Denerim after recruiting Daveth, he had met with King Cailan, Queen Anora and Teryn Loghain to discuss the upcoming offensive. He seemed to recall that there had been a certain Bann Esmerelle complaining loudly about Teryn Cousland's girl being a shameful example of a father's overindulgence. At the time, he hadn't thought it to be anything beyond the usual court drivel. "Has she any training?"

"Would I be recommending her if she didn't?" Trevelyan groused. "She's learned with the pages and squires at Highever these past six years – the Teryna's doing, you see, her being from West Hill and all – " Duncan nodded. He had heard that the women of West Hill, at least, were fighters, and respected them for it. "– and I've had occasion to teach her myself, at the Teryn's request."

"So she's skilled, then."

"She's not the greatest warrior I've ever seen, but she's green enough that there's still time to improve," Trevelyan said. His honesty was a refreshing change from training masters who promised the world and failed to deliver. "She's got natural reflexes and a head for keeping calm in a fight. She's passionate for the art – I've never seen more determination in anyone I've ever taught. What I hear from her father, she's got it in her mind that she wants to learn to wield a greatsword. Girl believes she's Signe the Stoic come again."

"It's not unheard of," Duncan granted. "When I was first recruited to the order, the Warden-Commander fought with a greatsword. She was a formidable warrior."

"If anyone could do it, Elissa Cousland could," Trevaelyan chuckled. Then he sighed. "Unless you can find some use for her, she's going to go to waste, on her back for some arl or lesser bann. I heard the Teryn was considering one of the Howe boys, until recently. Apparently the Arl of Redcliff suggested his brother might be a more suitable match."

Duncan considered. It wouldn't hurt to wait around and see the girl. Even if she amounted to nothing, Highever was known for training good fighters and he might find luck with one of the lesser knights; the Gilmore chap for one.

"How old is she?"

"Sixteen, as I recall. Nearly seventeen."

Duncan frowned. "That's young."

Not many girls that age would be interested in the duties of a Grey Warden. He had only known two who had been anxious to join the Wardens at so young an age. Most of the women in the ranks outside of Ferelden were older, common born or had been criminals of some kind – or all three. They were desperate enough to do anything to escape their lot, even if it meant taking on the dangerous life of a Warden. There was little for a pampered noble's daughter to be desperate for.

"By rights she would have been married by now if she didn't have her father twisted around her finger," Trevelyan snorted. "The girl could talk a Chanter into reciting dirty limericks."

Duncan chuckled at the image, but sobered quickly. On the chance that the girl was as good as he kept hearing, though, he did not want to have to invoke Conscription again. "Would the Teryn be amenable?"

Trevelyan barked out a harsh laugh. "Hah! Bryce Cousland is the least of your worries if you take an interest in the girl. Puss in Boots would talk him into it, if he weren't. No, your biggest hurdle will be the Teryna. As adamant as she was about having the girl learn to fight, she's as adamant about her making a powerful marriage when the time is right. I'd wager that if the king had never married, Lady Eleanor would have seen the girl on the throne. As it is, with the Teryn and Fergus both going off, she's unlikely to allow the girl to go to war. Just in case the worst should happen."

The man had paused, looking like something just occurred to him. "If you don't get her, you could always consider the Teryn's bastard, Aedan, if he's home from Amaranthine. But you'd better hurry. From what I hear, he's going to the Free Marches soon."

Something in this rang a bell, and Duncan searched his mind for conversations he and King Cailan had. "Aedan…Not Aedan Bryceson?"

"One and the same," Trevelyan nodded, and Duncan wondered how he hadn't made the connection before that Bryceson was the Teryn's natural son. He had seen him in a tourney in Denerim – the spitting image of his father. The young man was talented, it was true, but he was also a bit of a glory hound, which is what had kept Duncan from approaching him. As it was, the king had given him a mission and although it was in Duncan's abilities to recruit anyone, it was counterproductive to the coming battle.

Duncan had thanked Trevelyan then and gone on to watch the festivities. Of the three whom the old swords-master had spoken about, he had been most animated when talking about the Teryn's daughter. For a grizzled old veteran, that unspoken praise was more telling than his words.

So he had sent Ser Jory on to Ostagar ahead of him and had waited in an inn at Summerside until news came that the Teryna and her daughter had returned. It was not hard to procure an invitation to remain with the Couslands after that. Bryce Cousland held the Wardens in high esteem.

That afternoon, Duncan had wandered the outer courtyard of the castle while the Teryn convened with Arl Howe, and had watched the girl practice with the pages and squires. He was intrigued when even a handful of knights sought her out, accepting defeat from her hands with surprising good grace. By the time she fought with Bryceson, he found himself silently rooting for her, though he knew she wasn't a match to her brother. Even in defeat she showed an expression that promised to do better the next time or die trying.

Her antics at dinner the night before the attack stuck in his mind as well. She had a good heart, for all that she was rash. Even without her impulsive gift, he had gotten the sense that every soldier in the hall that night would have fought and died for her. It was no small thing to command such loyalty, Duncan knew, and it was a valuable quality in a Warden if it could be nurtured.

He found himself as intent on recruiting her as he had been to obtain Alistair. He had planned to talk the Teryna around in the coming days of his stay, but that had been cut short with Howe's betrayal. Duncan had never expected the circumstances surrounding his acquisition of the Cousland girl, and fervently wished that they had been different.

Howe's duplicity had been unforeseen, although now that he thought about it he should have paid more attention to the Arl's discomfort at his presence. He had attributed it to Howe believing General Loghain's biases about Grey Wardens and Orlesians being mutually exclusive factions, not to any grand scheme to murder the Couslands.

After dinner, Duncan had joined the Teryn and the Arl in the main hall to finish discussion to troop placement. When the herald had come to announce that Howe's troops arrived, Duncan hadn't even looked up. The Arl had disappeared while he had discussed the upcoming test of the young knight, Ser Gilmore and tried to convince Bryce Cousland to allow his daughter to join the Wardens. He didn't want to have to bring up Conscription.

He still cursed himself for not noticing how things outside the castle had suddenly become eerily quiet – before the main gate burst open and dozens of armed men burst in. He and the Teryn were nearly scored by some archers, but they managed to duck out of the way as the Highever soldiers within the hall rallied to protect their liege lord.

Two enemy soldiers managed to get through the Highever men, and the Teryn cursed; he was weaponless, caught off guard within the safety of his own home. Duncan moved in front of him, ready to protect. He feinted forward so that the soldiers brought their blades up to block, and then stepped in to deliver the real blow an overhand loop that turned into a cut at the neck. One man began to sidestep and block to deflect it, but Duncan was too quick. His sword fell on the man's shoulder with a sound like a hammer on wood, neatly severing the collarbone.

The soldier toppled backward with a sound that was half curse and half scream of pain. His comrade was already starting forward again. More soldiers were crowding in through the giant gate – "Get the gates closed!" yelled a frantic Roderick Gilmore, hurrying in from the outer hallways – and Duncan noticed with cold realization that they all bore the heraldry of Amaranthine.

The Teryn seemed to have noticed this too.

"Treachery!" he roared, trying to find a blade to join the fray.

"Your lordship, stay down!" Duncan ordered, stepping into the downward stroke of his opponent and sloping neatly out of the way. He slashed his sword across the man's face.

The hallway echoed with the sound of steel on metal and wood, the torchlight making the shadows flickering on the ceiling as sinister as the melee that made them. Small groups broke away from the main force and fled from the main hall, into the deeper parts of the castle. Three more soldiers made it past the Highever forces that were helping to defend the Teryn, and Duncan managed to cut down two with ease. Despite their numbers, these soldiers were not well trained and crudely outfitted –

There was a pain-filled groan from behind him.

Duncan had looked around and then made a choked sound. Teryn Bryce Cousland crouched behind him, clutching at his side. The enemy who had delivered that blow lay dead beside him, his heavily bleeding nose suggesting the Teryn had hit him hard with the heel of his hand, driving the bone into his brain, but not before the point of the sword found its mark.

The Teryn's face was clenched against the scream that might have distracted Duncan from his own battle, and a look of utter determination dominated his features.

Instantly, Duncan's priorities changed. The Teryn was a major supporter of both the Grey Warden's and Ferelden's king – he could not die!

"Come, Lord Cousland – we need to get you to safety!" he said, picking up the man with ease. "Is there somewhere secure – somewhere they won't look?"

"Larder…" the Teryn groaned, blood soaking down through his finery. He pointed to the eastern exit of the hall. "Hidden servants entrance – but my wife…and daughter…Oren and Oriana – "

"You need to move as little as possible," Duncan commanded, starting toward the indicated exit. "I'll get you somewhere safe, and then I will find them."

"Howe…" the Teryn growled, hatred colouring his weak voice. "Traitorous bastard!"

Duncan hadn't been sure they would find the rest of the family. Even after leaving the Teryn in the larder at the man's request, cutting a swath through the invading forces as he did so, he hadn't been sure. The hallway of the eastern passage had collapsed behind him as he ran forward, and upon entering the living area of the castle he had been assaulted by more Howe soldiers. They all died just as easily as those in the main hall had.

'The presence of a Grey Warden was obviously not expected in Howe's calculations,' Duncan had thought grimly as he glanced into the one of the quarters. He winced upon seeing the corpse of the little boy who had sat beside him at dinner. 'They meant to kill everyone as they slept.'

And yet there was no sign of the girl or her mother.

Later, he would learn that he had just missed them. While he searched, the girl had been helping her mother through the castle.

'Clear head under pressure,' he thought now as he looked at her, 'and obviously more talent than any of those common soldiers.'

At the moment, Elissa lay propped up on a table in the healer's home, her eyes unfathomable. The withered woman beside her, clad only in a night shirt and cap, was pooling several odd looking bottles. Most of them Duncan recognized from similar ones in his own pack, but there were others he had no name for. The healer had also scrubbed clean several wickedly sharp tools. Although he knew that lay healers were just as effective as mage healers, Duncan sincerely wished that they had been able to find a mage on short notice. Time was of the essence.

The girl's mabari was sitting nearby, watching its mistress in what could only be an anxious manner. Duncan couldn't see any glaring wounds on the animal, but remembering that the beast had been limping, he supposed one of its thigh muscles had been severely bruised.

"Do you have anything for the dog?" he asked the woman, who was offering Elissa a cup of something hot and foul smelling – he recognized the mixture as a draught to stifle the pain and prevent more infection.

"Elfroot and deep mushroom work as well for hounds as humans," the woman replied as she went to work on Elissa.

Duncan considered the dog warily for a moment. Despite having been born in Ferelden, he would never understand the southern preoccupation with the smelly creatures. Still, he was the first to admit that they could be useful, and this one obviously deserved some commendation. Duncan began to prepare his own mixture for the hound, briefly wondering how he would get the dog to take the curative without losing a hand.

Elissa continued to consider him with a look of calculation for a long while, before she finally spoke.

"How long were you in Orlais?"

The directness and suddenness of the question surprised him. The healer paused, glancing from her charge to Duncan uneasily. He motioned for her to continue, and fixed Elissa in a measuring stare. "Who said I've been to Orlais?"

"It's in your voice. I've had enough Orlesian tutors to know the sound of someone who spent a lot of time speaking the language. You've obviously been here long enough that someone who had never heard an Orlesian wouldn't know the difference."

She spoke with a calm that unnerved him, ignoring the healer's ministrations as the woman made an incision along the girl's arm. Duncan knew from experience that even with the pain-killing solution the process was as agonizing as the actual break, and yet Elissa barely paid attention to it.

'Shock,' he realized. 'She hasn't quite accepted what's happened.'

Out loud, he asked, "Does it matter?"

"A little," she returned. "I'd like to know if I should be worried about a knife in my back."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "If that was something you needed to worry about, you'd already be past the point of being able to do anything about it."

She nodded thoughtfully at this, apparently unbothered by the warning in his voice. Her eyes were focused elsewhere, seeing somewhere past him. A slight clench of her jaw was the only indication that she noticed the healer had started to press the bones back into place, binding them with an odd herbal concoction Duncan had no name for.

"I apologize," Elissa said finally, not truly sounding it. There was an absent note in her voice suggesting she was only going through the motion of an apology because custom dictated it. "I don't know anything about you other than you are a Grey Warden – which doesn't give me much – and what Father told me. And considering that a man who was believed to be a trusted friend of his just orchestrated his murder, maybe you can understand my mistrust."

"While I understand it, I don't appreciate it," he told her bluntly. "Grieving or not, if you intend to do well by the Wardens, you'll let go of any preconceived notions you have, whether it's about Orlesians or not."

She watched him, sizing him up in a way that she hadn't even done when they first met.

The rest of the healer's work continued in silence. For all that she was quick about it, Duncan continued to glance outside the windows of the small hut in case any of Howe's men appeared in the village. It was unlikely, as he doubted the men occupying the Cousland castle had even realized the Teryn's daughter was missing yet. Still, he didn't want any more surprises that night.

"The bone is set," the old woman announced after what seemed days but was a little under an hour. It took her less time to close the incision than it had to open it up, and after smoothing some kind of balm over the wound and wrapping it in linens, she allowed Elissa to flex it experimentally. The girl managed this with only the slightest wince of pain.

Satisfied, they prepared to leave. Duncan tossed the woman another silver for her swift work, which she accepted and then gave Elissa several vials, explaining them as she did so. "You will take a draught of each of these thrice a day until they are gone. This one is to combat infection, this one will speed up your body's natural healing, this will strengthen the bone – the balm is for pain and to keep the skin around the incision from getting infected. The arm should be fully healed in three days' time, as long as you don't do anything stupid with it."

"Here," Duncan said, pressing his herbal concoction into Elissa's good hand. "See to your hound. I don't trust him not to take a chunk out of my arm."

The dog whuffed indignantly and Elissa did what he asked without question.

"We are in your debt," Duncan said politely to the healer once the girl was finished, ushering her and the hound out of the hovel. They still needed to get as far away from Highever as travelling by dark would allow. As though sensing his thoughts, the girl asked,

"How long will it take us to reach Ostagar?"

"If we don't run into any trouble, about a fortnight," he told her as they reached the stables. "We'll travel along the North Road and the Imperial Highway, and then cut south through the Hinterlands."

"Then let's hope we don't run into any trouble," she said, her expression set.

They didn't speak again that night. With her arm healed and the horses saddled, they started south, the mabari loping after them at such a resolute pace it was impossible to tell that he had been wounded. Duncan wished to reach the North Road before they rested.

The terrain was fairly easy, even in the moonlight; the Coastlands were relatively flat, with small forests like the one in Highever rising up out of nowhere and disappearing just as quickly, little more than shadows in the dark. There was a light wind at their backs and no sound but the steady beat of the horses' hooves. The landscape grew indistinct as they passed and soon the smell of the sea disappeared, replaced with the scents of farmland.

The darkness of the night necessitated careful riding and a slower pace, and it was nearly dawn when he called for a pause.

"Take what time you can. Rest will be scarce today," he told her once they had put considerable distance between themselves and Highever. He tossed her one of the blanket rolls from the horses. "We travel until nightfall."

Despite his suggestion, the girl didn't sleep much. From the way she started screaming the moment she slipped out of consciousness, Duncan believed this was probably just as well. The rest of the day she remained silent, but when prompted for conversation spoke in a dull tone that gave no hint to her inner thoughts.

As they travelled, he took his measure of her. Despite her uncommunicativeness, the girl's silence spoke more than a conversation with her would have. Her expression remained closed, as though relaxing at all would make her falter, and even though her body language conveyed weariness, it could not mask the confident set of her shoulders that he had seen few noblewomen display. She rode as though she was born in the saddle, didn't seem affected by spending long days traveling at a grueling pace, and knew how to care for her horse and her armour. She was a competent tracker, no doubt having taken part in hunting with other nobles, and she didn't flinch at the task of skinning and preparing game when they rested. Her movements as she went about the camp tasks had the smooth inevitability of a sleepwalker's, which worried him.

Everyone grieved differently. Given that she had been forced to leave her parents to die and her home to burn, he was sure that heartache contributed to her emotional state. At the same time, he felt wary. Sometimes such strong feelings bled off, and sometimes they didn't. Some people were able to talk about their pain, while others bottled it up within them and used it to function until the pressure became so great that they snapped.

That evening as they prepared their camp for the night, he tried to address the issue as well as he could. When the girl handed him one of the water skins she had just filled in a nearby brook, he took it. He cleared his throat as she turned silently away.

"Elissa." Reluctantly she turned back to him. He was fleetingly surprised at the expression of offense that she tried to cover up, and then recalled that she was used to being addressed according to her station. "You'll find that we don't stand much by ceremony among the Wardens," he told her dryly in response to this. "There are no distinctions between race or class or gender among us. Therefore I will call you by your name and you will call me by mine."

There was a barely perceptible jerk of her chin and her face was guarded once again, not betraying what she thought about this.

"Are you going to be alright?"

She nodded again, but this wasn't the response he wanted, so he went on: "I know this is difficult, but we do not have the leisure of dwelling on what has passed. You may have lost your family, but you cannot let that fact cause you to retreat within yourself. The road is never guaranteed to be safe, and we may need to fight. You need to remain functional if you are to make it to Ostagar. Understand?"

She inclined her head a third time; the wide sea-green eyes seemed to be looking through to another world as much as at him. He furrowed his brow. "Let me hear it, Elissa. Hiding in your head does no one any good. We need you out here."

She took a deep breath and he saw her blink back to the waking world. "I understand."

"Good," he said, motioning that she could leave. She busied herself with checking her mount's hooves for stones, while Duncan continued to watch her thoughtfully. The uneasy feeling didn't go away.

He had seen what happened to people exposed to the sudden violent upheaval of their life; it had to be all the worse for a privileged young girl losing her parents, home, and affluence in one night. He would keep an eye on her. She hadn't yet folded under the stress, and as he didn't know her all that well, this could be seen as a good sign or a bad one.

The next day seemed better, and although she remained understandably detached, parts of her character began to shine through and he slowly started to get a better measure of her.

'She's a bit spoiled,' he decided. He had noticed it the first time he divvied up the camp chores, but had put it off as another offshoot of her grief. As she started to come around, though, it became clear to him that she was used to having things done for her. The stiffness in her movements, though she tried to hide it, suggested that she had never slept outside of a proper bed. The revolted look on her face when she choked down cold meat or whatever dry rations Duncan had procured revealed that she was accustomed to being served decently prepared food.

'It's an undesirable trait, but thankfully one that can be excised in time,' he maintained.

The second night of their journey it rained heavily. Duncan, himself not a fan of cold and wet weather but knowing that they were nowhere near a village, had found them shelter under a large tree to wait out the storm. For all her reticence, the girl was still able to convey her thoughts about the situation through her rather expressive eyes.

"It's not all glory, girl," he told her dryly. "Sometimes you have to sleep in the mud. And this is still considerably better than some of the slums I've slept in, I assure you."

"Were they as wet?" she retorted waspishly, gripping the traveling cloak that doubled as a blanket closely around her.

He refrained from laughing at her naivety.

He set her to work in more tasks over the next day of their journey, gauging her abilities and shortcomings. He admired her lack of complaining, but it was evident that she was not at ease living on the move. Whatever her other training, barring the most basic healing skills and some sense of direction, her survival skills were lacking. Even the greenest page was taught how to set up camp in the wilderness, but it seemed the Teryn had believed it was only fighting skills that his daughter would benefit from.

She never argued when it was her turn to dig the latrine, but he suspected that was simply her self-imposed silence. While she carried out the task with businesslike efficiency, he had not missed the resentful gleam of her eyes that spoke volumes. Apparently she was used to menial tasks being done for her, too.

'If she expected to have a personal servant along the way, she's learning different now,' he thought with cool amusement.

The fourth day, she finally began to show signs of life.

It was late afternoon and they had stopped at the side of the North Road to rest. The girl's mabari was panting by the water, muzzle and paws drenched, and his tongue lolling out. Duncan had been surprised by the hound's good condition. It kept a decent pace with the horses and didn't slow them as much as he had feared it would. The dog was a determined creature, like its mistress.

The hound let out an inquisitive yip and at the same time, movement caught Duncan's attention. There was the sound of steel being drawn, and when he looked over he saw that she had brought out her blade. She considered it thoughtfully for several moments, as though weighing its merit, and then meandered off to a part of the clearing where there was more space.

She swept the weapon down, adjusted first her grip and then her stance to the lack of shield, and then began a rather methodical sequence of movements and strikes. Duncan observed appreciatively as the sword sliced through the air, the girl moving with a dancer's slow grace. Trevelyan had been right; the girl had a natural fighter's reflexes, and was agile as a cat.

She turned, bringing the sword overhand and cut downward, then shifted and lunged back. Duncan frowned. 'The movement's right, but the sword's wrong. Not enough resistance.'

Her face was set in concentration as she swung the weapon in an upward arc, and then made a parrying movement. He surmised that part of her intense focus was dedicated to keeping the movements slow enough to maintain balance. The sword was too light, he realized, or perhaps the wrong style for her.

Given her height, hers was only just long enough. It was sufficient for casual fighting but overall it hindered her full potential. If she got any taller – unlikely given her age, but still possible – she would need to adjust her technique and find a better weapon, either broader or longer. As she completed a series of complex swings, thrusts, turns and lunges, he noticed that she had an occasional tendency to use both hands on a downward stroke. Obviously she had adapted the pattern dance to this quirk of hers, but without a proper sword suited to this it might result in an injury. With Duncan's memory of what old Trevelyan had said, it might be an idea to find her a two-handed weapon.

'Not a true greatsword,' he mused. 'At least not until she better understands the skill and strength required for it. A weighted longsword to begin with, modified for length…easy enough to procure, even on the road. And if she survives the Joining I'll have Vogel take her under his wing. I'm no teacher, and she'll need a senior Warden to guide her for the first few months. That old Nevarran hasn't mentored anyone in years. He's due.'

She finished her exercise and went to put her sword away, and an idle thought struck him. He had yet to actually see her capabilities up close. She had finished the healing draughts from the Summerside healer that morning, and she appeared to be in better overall condition than she had been.

He nodded to himself and stood up.

"Elissa."

The first time she didn't seem to hear him, but the second time he called her name she looked up.

Duncan, wearied of her silence, continued, "Healing may fix injuries, but it does not restore strength. Pick up your sword." This seemed to surprise her, and though she did as she was ordered, a suspicious look passed over her face. Grasping it in her right hand, she paused when he shook his head, "No, with your left. I assume you are normally able to fight with either hand?" She was about to nod, but he cut her off, "You had your arm broken girl, not your tongue. Speak up."

"Well enough, ser," she answered as she switched hands, her voice quiet from disuse. At his frown, she corrected herself, "Duncan." She added flatly, "I am better with my right."

"Your right wasn't injured," he pointed out as he drew his own sword. "We have a little time while the animals rest. Best get some sense of how well you've healed."

Duncan's intentions were twofold. First of all, he wanted to tempt the girl out of her grieving. The pretence of exercising her arm was logical enough that even in her current mood, she would see the use in it. Secondly, he wanted to evaluate her abilities up close. What he had seen in the courtyard in Highever had showed her talent in relation to mostly untried squires and knights. He wanted to know how she would match up against his many years of practice. It would help him better place her if she lived through the Joining.

"Guard," he told her.

She took a stance, sword in her left hand, and watched him with grim expectation.

He swung at her, forcing her back. She stepped lightly, moving slow at first, and remained on the defensive. They made several passes. Duncan kept a sharp eye on her technique as she dipped, swerved and twisted to keep out of his reach.

'Can't have that,' he thought, and made a more earnest jab at her. Again she dodged him, but this time he saw a flicker of something in her eyes as she did, and she tensed. He almost had her attention. His third attempt grazed her arm, not even breaking the skin, but her head snapped up at him in anger. He knew he had finally gotten through to her.

At his next thrust, she countered and pushed him back, the strength of her guard surprising for someone who supposedly didn't fight well with her left arm, and a newly healed one to boot. He skipped back as she launched herself into an offense, which was clumsy but effective.

'Fast, too,' he observed appreciatively. 'A hair faster and even the fact that it's not her dominant hand wouldn't stop her against a regular opponent.'

He cut short her offensive, slashing at her with a measured strength. She blocked repeatedly as they circled, stopping his blade every time he thrust or cut inward, and her eyes roved over him searching for an opening. Finding what she was looking for, she unleashed a flurry of determined blows which he met with practiced ease.

Suddenly she whipped her blade into a reverse crescent and he only just blocked it. By then she was swinging her sword back for momentum and then whipped it forward in a move which might have bitten into his shoulder if he didn't move in time.

She followed through with a series of harsh, downward chopping blows that he blocked, retreating until he lunged forward to lock their swords. He could see intensity in her eyes that had nothing to do with their sparring match and knew that she was letting her inner pain guide her actions.

"Keep your head clear," he ordered loudly. "If you lose your focus, you can get yourself killed."

She didn't seem to hear him, and so he pushed himself back. She took this as an invitation, though, lunging forward again. They exchanged another bout of swipes and blocks, the latter mostly on Duncan's end. She was attacking fervently, no longer concerned with her guard or the effectiveness of her blows as she hammered at him manically. Her breathing had become labored, and her eyes were narrowed in effort.

'Time to end this, I think,' he decided, beginning a complex pass. 'She's still recovering, and forcing this might cause another injury.'

She didn't realize what he was doing until he knocked the sword from her hand. It clattered across the clearing, and for a second she simply stood there.

"At least we know your arm is better," he told her quietly. When she reached for her weapon again, he raised his own warningly. "Leave it. You're angry and emotional, and it will do you more harm than good."

She was breathing heavily, clenching and unclenching her fists, struggling against something unseen. The impromptu sparring match had apparently opened the floodgates to whatever she was feeling, and from the way she was glaring at him, he knew if he walked away now she might do something imprudent. It was best to deal with it right away.

She started forward an inch, and then jerked to a halt, considering the blade Duncan still held in his hand.

He sighed, following her thought process. "That shows some sense at least."

He tossed his sword out of reach, and then held out both hands in a beckoning gesture. "Come, then."

She flushed angrily and then yelled, coming at him with her fists up in a good guard position. As with her footwork during their earlier clash, she was light and quick. Her hand snapped out in a blow that would likely have broken his jaw if he hadn't moved his head just enough to let her hand brush by his left ear. Before she could pull back, he struck her in the abdomen, not hard enough to seriously hurt her, but enough that she staggered back, gasping for breath.

Knowing she wasn't spent yet, he waited for her to recover. When she did, she charged and he waited for her to make a grab. With a quick movement, he diverted her path and tossed her lightly, away from where their swords lay. She landed on her face, but pushed herself up immediately. When she confronted him again, she was covered in mud and had a large scratch across the bridge of her nose.

'Trevelyan was right about her not giving up,' Duncan thought with chagrined admiration as he dodged swift fists. 'She knows she's going to lose, too.' He could see it in her eyes, and yet she was still attacking him. Perhaps if she had been less emotional she might have made an effort to fight properly. As it was, she was simply beating at him, throwing as much force as she could into her blows that thudded uselessly against his armour. 'But it's time to finish up this little bout, I think.'

Another flurry of movement, fast and fluid; it ended with Elissa skidding backward into one of the large trees surrounding the clearing. She wisely made no attempt to resist as the back of her head rang off the bark, and only gasped feebly as Duncan took her by the throat, firmly enough to drive the lesson home but not enough to cause bruising.

He smiled crookedly at her, ignoring the pressure cut on his cheek where she had managed to get under his guard.

"Did you get it all out of your system?" he inquired after a moment, releasing her.

She gasped for breath and reflexively massaged her neck. At his insistent look, she murmured, "Yes."

He studied her searchingly. She was far from being recovered from the events in Highever, but the empty look in her eyes was fading. That at least was promising. He extended a hand to help steady her. She took it after a moment's hesitation.

As she wiped the mud from her face, he asked, "Who taught you to fight barehanded?"

"My…mother when I was younger," she said tightly. "Later on my brother."

"Lord Fergus?"

She shook her head. "Aedan." Duncan was intrigued by the way she spoke of her father's bastard. It was not usually the case that illegitimate children were held in high regard by their estranged family. "Fergus never wanted much from knighthood. He's happy just doing his duty. Aedan…he wanted to learn to fight any way he could."

"Some of those moves are not the simple blocks and strikes I've seen the pages in Denerim learning," Duncan raised an eyebrow. "I've only ever seen one other person able to fight like that."

"About five years ago, Aedan travelled with his knight master to Orzammar," she explained. The mabari, who had been rather silent during their altercation, scampered over and pressed against her affectionately, rumbling questioningly. She scratched him behind the ear. "There are a group of warriors there that fight only with their hands. He learned it from one of them."

"The Silent Sisters?" Duncan inquired, surprised. When she nodded, he said, "Their order is rather secretive as to their arts."

She shrugged. "Aedan has always been very persuasive. He's like a dog with a bone over things he's interested in." In the background, her mabari yipped in an offended manner. "Sorry, Garm, you know what I mean." To Duncan, she continued, "I hope it serves him well in the Free Marches…if Howe didn't try to kill him too." Her expression filled with hate.

Unwilling to allow her to return to her previous mood, Duncan commented, "Wherever you learned your skills, I'd say you've nurtured them well. You're strong and you're fast, and you're not scared about getting hurt. With the right experience and the right weapon, you'll be a dangerous woman to meet in a fight one day."

A small spark in her eyes seemed to flicker at the praise, but was almost instantly replaced by guilt. She looked away from him and for a moment he thought she was about to recede back into grieving silence, but she turned back to him meaningfully.

"I think Garm's regained his stamina," she told him. "And the horses look ready to go to. Maybe we should get underway."

"Yes, it's best not to linger," he agreed, raising an eyebrow. He felt sure he had gotten through to at least some part of her, although in what capacity he was unsure.

(-)

"I know this place."

Duncan was startled by her announcement, and reflexively considered the clearing questioningly. The hilly forest was indicative that they had crossed out into the outer borders of the Bannorn, but even he had only a vague sense of where they were, relying on the time they had spent travelling more so than any concrete knowledge of geography.

"We're just a few hours outside of Willowsdale," she informed him. "It's a small hamlet – we might be able to get some supplies. I…There are some things I neglected to bring, but I have no coin." She turned red and didn't meet his gaze.

"I'll lend you some," he told her, motioning that they should get underway. "I understand you did not have much time to prepare to leave Highever. I'm impressed that you managed to grab even your pack in the confusion."

For some reason, this made her flush even darker and the awkward look returned even stronger. Still, Duncan chose not to question her about it. He had only just managed to get her to start talking. He would not upset the delicate nature of their rapport. Instead, he asked, "How can you tell where we are?"

"I've been here before, when I travelled with…I have…" she trailed off, tensing as she fought something back. She took a breath and said simply, "West Hill is a day's journey from here."

"We won't have time to stop there," Duncan cautioned, recognizing the name of the place where her mother's people came from. "We can't afford the delay. You can send a message to your kin when we reach the settlement, if you wish."

"It would do little good," she told him, climbing up onto her mount. "Uncle Kendrick prefers to winter at his estate in Denerim. He and Aunt Matilda leave the keep as soon as the harvest is in and don't return until after the snows thaw."

"Who watches the Bann's lands, then?"

"Normally my cousin Evan, however we received word that he had gone to the front. I suppose it is his wife who watches over West Hill now. She…" Elissa trailed off and a mulish expression appeared on her face. "We never got along."

Duncan decided this was another avenue that did not need to be pursued.

"We should get going," he told her. "You say Willowsdale is an hour away?"

"With a carriage of fresh horses," she replied. She gestured to their mounts. "Probably a little longer this way."

He nodded. "Let's go."

They rode in silence, although this time it was significantly less tense than it had been in three days, and the time passed quickly despite the landscape. The road had lost its smoothness, trailing over low hills and terrain that became steadily more rugged as they went west. It was here that the Frostback Mountain range truly began, even if only in lesser hills . Duncan shuddered at the nearness of the cold mountain range, and the knowledge that one day he would have to make the trek through them to go to Orzammar. He could almost smell the cold from here –

He tensed up suddenly.

'I do smell something from here – and it's not the cold.'

There was an acrid quality to the air – 'Smoke,' he recognized – and now that he was actively concentrating on it, he could hear a commotion far ahead. Distant shouts and screaming, interspersed with the clatter of weapons. Concentrating, he reached out with his mind, probing for the presence of the Taint anywhere nearby. There was none, but it was a small comfort.

"Wait," he called out, careful to keep the pitch of his voice low enough that it would not carry farther than her. Elissa glanced at him as he motioned for her to slow, but did as he asked. "I think there's trouble up ahead."

He saw her cock her head to one side, as though trying to hear what he did. The hound had stopped as well, braced low to the ground with his hackles rising. Another sound joined the distant din: running feet. They seemed to be coming from farther down the path, but were getting steadily closer. Now he also heard someone panting, gasping for breath.

A little girl, probably no more than ten, burst from the trees ahead, racing toward them. Her shabby skirt and woolen jacket were torn, and she bled from several wounds on her hands that suggested she had been fending off a knife. She was red-faced with exertion, and her terror-filled eyes registered surprise to find them in her path. It was a quick look at their armour and horses, before she stumbled forward and cried, "Help me, sers! Bandits! The village –"

Elissa was already swinging out of her saddle, moving toward the girl. Before Duncan could caution her, two men rushed from the same place that the girl had come from. They appeared to recover from their surprise at finding two armed strangers just as quickly as the girl had. The foremost gave a yell and lunged at Elissa as she was in the act of reaching for her sword, a wicked-looking knife raised high. Duncan reached for the dagger strapped to his back, ready to take the man out, but Elissa lashed out with her leg, knocking him back with a kick to his sternum. Even as he recovered, she had her sword out of its sheath and swung down hard, slicing through his clavicle. The second man staggered to a halt when he saw this, eyes wide in shock, and turned to retreat the way he had come. With practiced ease, Duncan threw his blade, which impaled itself into the man's back. He went down.

"Are there more after you?" Duncan demanded of the child.

"No, ser! They saw when I ran and followed me," she answered, staring at the corpses. She had a bruise or a burn up the side of her face, and her eyes were oddly mismatched. When she trained them on him, Duncan found himself shivering. There was something disconcerting about her.

Elissa had pried her sword free from the first bandit and was kneeling by the girl, reaching for her bleeding hands. "Are you alright?"

The child pulled away, shaking her head. "You got to help. There's bandits in the village. The men went to fight in the war – ain't no one to keep them out!"

"Bastards!" Elissa hissed, standing up quickly. "A bit late in the season for an attack, but not unheard of." She got back on her horse. "No doubt hoping to rob the people of their winter supplies before the harvest is properly stored!"

"Where do you think you're going?" Duncan demanded.

She gave him a dirty look. "I'm going to help."

"Not without a plan, you won't," he told her.

"We don't have the time!" she retorted, already kicking her heels into the horse's flank. "Sitting here and strategizing isn't going to do those people any good!"

"Elissa!" he yelled, but she was already gone, her mabari bounding after her with a rumbling growl. Duncan let out a string of curses. He sent a harsh look at the child. "How many are there?"

"More'n twelve," the child told him. "They've dogs, too, ser."

"Of course they do," he retorted. He scanned the area, and then pointed to a dark cluster of trees several yards away. "Hide. If the worse should happen, run to the nearest farm hold. And keep off the road."

He didn't wait to see if she would heed him, instead spurring the horse onward as he groused about his charge, 'Why do I always end up with the ones that don't listen?'

The forest opened up into a cleared area, and Duncan could make out several farmhouses scattered among open fields. All of them were small, their construction of wood and stone, the kind built by farmers. Three farmhouses were burning. The villagers were in a state of pandemonium. They were mostly women and children. Judging from the anguished screams, they were ill-equipped to deal with their attackers.

The child's count had been accurate. There were about fifteen bandits scurrying through the houses and paths between them, some hoisting sacks and barrels, while others dogged the women and children. The few men that Duncan could see were old or far too young. Though they tried to fight off the robbers, it was obvious that they were at a disadvantage.

Elissa was a hundred yards ahead, riding low against her horse with her blade out. She was directed toward a group of three men that were assaulting an older woman. There was casualness about their activity, as though they did this particular crime often, and without recrimination.

The first man who spotted her was standing not three feet from the woman being raped. He had been egging on his comrades, but turned suddenly, his eyes wide. He straightened up and began to shout a warning, but it cut off abruptly as Elissa's sword sliced through his neck like it was no thicker than sinew. The two remaining men tried to stand when they were splashed by their comrade's blood as Elissa reined in the horse. She was already swivelling in the saddle, slicing upward and through the crude armour of the nearest man. He fell, and the third man – the actual rapist – stumbled back. He seemed to be trying to both reach for his weapons and pull up his breeches at the same time. When he realized he wasn't going to manage either, he shouted out something unintelligible. It caught the attention of the others in the distance even as Elissa was swinging down from her saddle. Garm closed in on the rapist, and leaped forward at a command from his mistress.

Duncan brought his horse up near her, jumping off just in time to intervene as one of the robbers who had been alerted by the rapist's call tried to stab her in the back. He growled as he struck the man down, "Are you insane or just stupid?"

She didn't answer.

A pair of mabari surged forward from behind the nearest burning structure, jaws bloodied. Their approach spooked the horses, who reared and galloped off. Duncan turned so that he and Elissa were more or less back to back, trying to minimize any weak areas the hounds might take advantage of.

Garm rose up from where he had pinned the rapist, now out cold, and charged down the closest enemy mabari, leaping upon him with savage fury. The remaining hound snarled as Duncan brandished his sword, and then sprang forward. Duncan remained completely still until the beast was in range, and then swung upward. He heard the crack of bone and saw the animals' head jerk to the right as his blade slashed partway through the neck.

As it dropped, Elissa moved forward to check on the woman, who appeared to be alive, but unconscious. After covering her quickly with the dress that had been torn from her body, Elissa sprang to her feet, murder in her eyes as she prepared to run off again, but this time Duncan managed to grab her roughly by the shoulder. She whirled, ready to fend off an attack and only just stopped when she recognized him. There was a dangerous glint in her eyes – the same manic one he had seen earlier when she they had fought. Duncan knew that if left unchecked, it would get them both killed.

"Snap out of it!" he barked. "Or I'll knock you out myself!"

There was a beat, and then he saw her regain some sense. An eerie calm came over her features and she nodded to him, the incline of her neck suggesting she was waiting for his command.

'Now she follows orders. If we live, there are a few choice words I have for this girl,' he thought grimly, motioning for her to follow him. 'But before that, we have to get out of this viper's nest she's got us into.'

They moved quickly up the untidy path between the nearest homesteads. The other raiders were beginning to take notice. At first they began shouting to each other to take their spoils and run. When they realized that there were no reinforcements coming, however, and that the only resistance seemed to be coming from an older man, a girl and a dog, they rallied.

A bandit who had been kicking a fallen child came running at Duncan from the right, brandishing a shoddy axe like the kind woodsmen used to fell trees. To his left, another man abandoned the sack of loot he had been carrying, and let out an angry cry as he charged, sword high. A baying mabari followed at his heels.

"I've got these two," Duncan told her, "You take the one with the axe."

"Right – Garm, go with Duncan!"

Her hound barked in what could only be agreement and bounded for the other dog. The bandit swiped his blade at Duncan, bringing it down in a hard movement. Duncan dodged to the side, causing the man to overbalance, and brought the pommel of his sword down on the back of his attacker's neck as he passed. As the man cried out and tried to regain his balance, Duncan reversed his grip on the sword hilt in a fluid movement and stabbed down into the back of the bandit.

A sharp whine drew his attention, and he saw that Garm had been bowled over by the other hound, who was savagely trying to rip into his throat. Duncan didn't even think as he slid forward, waited until he had a clear shot, and jabbed the point of his sword in under the animal's ribs. The mangy hound snarled in pain, turning its head to try to reach the thing that was injuring him, but this caused it to relinquish some of its ground. Garm soon had the other hound on its back, seized it by the neck and jerked it roughly. There was an audible snap, and the hound lay dead.

The mabari stumbled to his paws. He gave Duncan a look of what could only be resigned thanks, and began to look around. Duncan did the same, and swore again. Elissa's opponent was dead, but she was gone. "Where did that blighted girl go now?"

The hound by his side crouched, tense. He sniffed the air and started to depart in one direction. Then abruptly he stopped, ears cocking, and tore off the opposite way. Deciding he was more likely to find Elissa with her dog, he followed the beast a ways, only to discover it wasn't Elissa the dog was leading him to.

The hovel nearest to him was the only one that wasn't burning, and he could make out three raiders that had yet to see him. They were crowded around something, and as Duncan came closer, he saw what it was. An old man crouched with a pregnant woman and a child, clutching a spear in shaking hands. He prodded tentatively at the cluster of men around them as they tried to get closer.

Garm was already on the closest thug, taking him down from behind before his comrades even noticed his presence. As his body fell beneath the weight of the mabari, Duncan dove forward, taking the second man with a hard diagonal swipe across his chest. He ignored the look of surprise that would be permanently pasted on the brigand's face.

The third staggered back, reaching for his sword as he did so. He clumsily caught Duncans first two blows, but the third time Duncan jabbed in under his guard, sinking his blade deep into the man's abdomen. The raider jerked and coughed up blood, before slumping.

Duncan pulled back and then glanced over at the people. They cringed when he saw them, but he asked, "Are you all right?"

"Y-yes," the old man said, hesitantly. "Thank you."

"I think we've got most of them," Duncan told him. "Run for shelter. Stay out of sight until we come for you."

"But our homes – the fire –"

"Will kill you just as much as brigands will," Duncan finished, mentally tracking how many of the bandits had been taken out. The majority, he was sure. "Your lives are the important thing. You –"

An anguished cry drew his attention, and he knew it was her. Garm was already tearing off, and Duncan sprinted after him.

As they rounded the corner of the third burning homestead, he took in the scene before him with dismay. One bandit lay dead at her feet, but two others had gotten a hold of her. Her sword lay on the ground nearby. One bandit grasped her arms tightly behind her. His friend was smiling unpleasantly, a knife held to her face.

Duncan slowed to a stop, knowing that if he approached now they would likely slit her throat. He held out a hand for the hound to stop – for a wonder, the beast did – and called out, "Release her!"

His voice carried above the crackling flames, drawing the men's attention.

As they inclined their heads toward him, Elissa moved. Her foot snapped out and she caught the knife-wielding man with a hard kick to the groin. He swore, his knife flashing even as he stooped to clutch himself. There was a spray of blood, but this didn't stop her from purposefully jerking her head backward, smashing into the face of the one who held her.

"Go!" Duncan shouted, bolting forward himself, intent on the man who had the knife. Garm reached him first, and it was all Duncan could do to deliver the mercy stroke as the hound savaged the man. He glanced up as his did so.

Elissa's captor, his face a mess of blood flowing from his shattered nose, had lost grip on her arms, but had managed to catch hold of her hair. It appeared he was still strong despite the pain from his wound. He was drawing a dagger from several that hung from his belt with one hand, strengthening his grip on her with the other as he wound her braid around his hand inch by inch. Elissa, her own face a curtain of red, noticed this and quickly turned in closer to him, reaching around to wrestle the dagger from him. Somehow she managed it, and a second later she had shoved the dagger into the man's throat.

He fell, nearly bringing her with him as his grip on her hair hadn't lessened. As Duncan scanned the area, making sure that they weren't about to be ambushed, the girl fought to release her hair from the corpse's grip. When she couldn't, she wasted no time in hacking the braid off and pulled away. She put as much distance between herself and the corpses as she could, panting. Her shoulders trembled.

Garm had left his victim and trotted over, but his mistress did not appear to see him. She was staring at the corpse that clutched the remnants of the plait with an odd look. The bandit's knife had scored her face, but Duncan was thankful to see that the injury had not claimed her eye. A bad cut ran from the upper peak of her left cheekbone, between eye and temple and into her scalp. She appeared unaware of the wound.

"Did we get them all?" she asked in a hoarse voice, the grip on the dagger in her hand still tight and her eyes still fixed on the last man she killed.

"If there were any others, they'd have fled by now," Duncan replied. "We'll do a quick sweep to make sure –"

"And the people?" she interrupted tightly. "Are they alright? Did we save them?"

There was an odd tremor in her voice, and he heard desperation behind it. Something at the back of his mind told him what she needed to hear. He considered her gravely for a spell, and then slowly answered, "Yes. We saved them."

At first he wasn't sure that she had even heard him. She glanced down at the dagger in her hands, and then at her sword where it lay several feet away. The former dropped from her hands and she raised a shaky hand to her face, as though she was about to be sick, but seeing the blood there put it down again. She was half turned to him, staring at the dead man and something else unseen.

Slowly, her face began to tremble. The stony look of resolve that had been her only expression since the deaths of her family seemed to crumple in on itself. The tension that held her together vanished, and she slowly fell forward on her knees.

He thought for a moment that she had been injured, but as he moved to check on her, her shoulders sagged and a low, staggered gasping sound began to emanate from her.

It took him a beat to realize that she was sobbing.

It was the first time she had cried since Highever, and although the circumstances were less than ideal, he felt an invisible weight suddenly lift from his conscience. This was the break he had been waiting for.

Slowly, he moved forward and helped her to her feet. "Come. We must see to that cut. And we must secure the rest of the village."

Still crying, she nodded as they started back to the ruined hamlet.

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

_I know I said Monday, but tomorrow's an early day for me and I might not get a chance to put this up, so I decided today might be a better idea. Thank you to my wonderful beta, Cobar713, for volunteering time and patience to this work of fiction. Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read this, as well as those who have added me on author alerts and who has favourited me._

_I'd also like to specifically thank:_

**zGreece**: I'm very glad you like the story and I hope you enjoy everything that is to come!

**Serfius:** Thank you. I'm doing my best to avoid the stereotypical novelization, or at least put a different spin on it. Hope you enjoy the rest of it!

**Kor-Mavwin:** One of the main reasons I decided to write this was because I couldn't find any well-written, non-Suish portrayals of Elissa Cousland. Let's face it, the PC herself is pretty much a Sue, and so it's going to be interesting developing her over time. I was just sick of the character being seen as this super-woman with no flaws. Thanks for you interest in reading my story! Stick around!


	6. Chapter Six

_**Battle Maiden**__  
>by ErtheChilde<em>

* * *

><p><strong><em>"My father once told me that adventure is just someone else knee-deep in shite far from home. Maker, but I wish I had listened to him."<em>**

* * *

><p>Chapter Six:<p>

_Elissa peered intently through the shelter provided by a screen of willow branches, frowning into the darkness not reached by the light of the campfire. Although she detected nothing unusual, she was still unable to shake off the sense of disquiet that had been eating away at her since she went on watch hours before._

_She groaned, and rubbed her eyes, which stung with fatigue. She felt anxious, expecting a threat that would never come, but at the same time an odd wholeness filled her. She couldn't put her finger on the feeling, and this put her even more on edge._

_"It's no wonder you can't sleep," a voice startlingly close to her remarked._

_Elissa was so shocked that she jumped up. She hadn't even noticed her sword, but it was in her hand now, brandished threateningly at the stranger that appeared in the clearing. The woman standing at the edge regarded Elissa with an amused, almost indulgent look in her odd, mismatched blue and brown eyes. She was oval-faced and petite, and dressed in the shabby manner that reminded Elissa of the fishwives from Highever's coastal villages. Her hair could have been either brown or blond, but due to the firelight and the amount of dirt it was hard to tell. Elissa would have called her vulnerable in appearance, except for the puckered red welt across her face that could have been either a birthmark or a burn; it gave the stranger a rather hard look._

_"You're so busy fighting off your grief that you've started to deny your own body's needs," the woman continued, either ignorant or uncaring of Elissa's weapon. "Rather sloppy for a warrior, don't you think?"_

_"Where did you come from?" Elissa demanded, adjusting the grip on the sword. "What do you want?"_

_"That won't do you any good," the woman told her easily, not answering the question. She strode forward as though she had been invited and sat down by the fire, her movements elaborately slow and casual. Still, Elissa blinked, sure that her vision had begun to blur. "Put down your blade. I wish to speak to you."_

_Elissa ignored the order, glaring at the woman defiantly to mask the uneasy fear that was beginning to creep up on her. This woman was not intimidated by a weapon, but did not appear to have any of her own. Either she was particularly adept at defending herself unarmed, or else –_

_"You're a mage," Elissa accused._

_The woman laughed, genuinely amused. The sound echoed strangely in the night. "No more than you are."_

_"That's not an answer."_

_"Observant," the stranger said with approval, "I had my doubts before, but my intuition appears to have won out again."_

_Something about these words tickled at the edge of Elissa's consciousness, and she frowned, her sword inching downward incrementally. "Who are you?"_

_"That's a rather long story that neither of us has time for," the woman demurred with an elfin grin. There was something odd about how the flames seemed somewhat diminished in the woman's presence, as though they were less real than she. "For the sake of keeping things civil, you may call me Brighid."_

_"That's not your name."_

_"No."_

_Elissa considered the stranger, a sick wariness ever present in her mind. "You say you're not a mage…but you obviously have some kind of power. And you're not human, are you?"_

_The corner of Brighid's mouth rose, and Elissa read approval in her eyes. "Not for a long time. I'm surprised you caught that."_

_"Darkspawn were supposed to be a myth, but that's been proven false. What's to say the other stories Nan told me growing up aren't true? Like demons possessing people's bodies."_

_"It has been known to happen," Brighid agreed. "But I am not a demon. I am…" She paused, as though trying to think of the most apt description. She smiled when she found it. "I am an intermediary."_

_"An intermediary for who?"_

_"Not who. What."_

_"Alright, what?"_

_"That's not for you to know."_

_"Then why should I trust anything you say?"_

_"I don't ask you to trust," the woman replied cheerfully. "Only listen."_

_Elissa made a face. The woman's mysterious yet candid nature did more to put her on edge than to calm her. Still, she lowered her sword – but didn't sheath it – and motioned for her visitor to continue. "Why do you want to talk to me?"_

_"Because you are one of the few that I can reach."_

_"And that means…?"_

_"You're sensitive to the flux of fate."_

_Elissa stared._

_"Fate," she repeated, sceptical. "As in, the future?"_

_"Not exactly," Brighid amended. "There are some who are born with an inherent sensitivity to events or circumstances and can use that gift to alter the course of things. I was born with it – so was your Warden friend."_

_"Duncan?" Elissa murmured, suddenly aware that she didn't know where he was. She scanned the clearing, realizing for the first time that it was empty of everyone but herself. Duncan and Garm were nowhere to be seen. She was sure she should be more worried about this, but the woman was talking, drawing her attention once again._

_"Once I might have considered him, but now some other song hums in his mind," Brighid remarked. "It blocks my voice out, you see. I can still reach him on occasion, but not as clearly as I can others." She smiled again. "Like you."_

_Elissa shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know what you're talking about. I've never had any kind of magical powers –"_

_"It's not magic," Brighid told her firmly. "Do not mistake it as such. Magic comes from the Fade. This gift permeates all the realms of Thedas, but is limited to none." She paused thoughtfully, and then added, "It's rather like situational awareness, only much stronger."_

_"And I…have this," Elissa said, her tone dubious._

_"You and only a handful of others," Brighid said. "I keep my eye out for promising talents like you – the ones who have the potential for greatness. You're the only one who passed the first test, though. And so here I am."_

_"'Passed the first test'?" Elissa repeated dully._

_"Everything you have endured until now has been a test," the woman told her. "Fighting off a man with no weapons or armour to protect yourself, escaping a massacre while leaving your family behind, coming back from a powerful grief before it destroyed you…" She trailed off, her smile widening. "In all, you have done very well."_

_Elissa's mind reeled, and she felt confusion set in. How could this woman know all of this about her? Vaguely, the words rose up in her mouth, "I didn't – I wouldn't have – "_

_Brighid chuckled. "You were going to be run through by a soldier in the night, and yet your training allowed you to defend yourself. And do you really think that if some part of you didn't realize the importance of escaping Highever, you would ever have let the Warden take you from your parents' side? We both know your stubbornness. Who else but you could have woken up from your downward spiral afterward?" Her expression turned sad. "There are others who were not as lucky."_

_Elissa didn't know what to say to any of this. The woman's words caused so many thoughts and feelings to stir about in her mind that she couldn't put her thoughts in order. With supreme effort, she managed to focus on one idea, considering it at length before understanding set in. Her eyes narrowed at Brighid. "Do you mean Howe's betrayal – my parents' deaths – that was a test?" Her voice rose with every syllable. "You knew what he was going to do? And you let it happen anyway?"_

_"I don't know the minds of men any more than you do," Brighid told her placidly. "Nor can I stop events that I am not directly involved in. Even those require much effort."_

_"Then why didn't you –"_

_"Because I choose my battles, pup," Brighid told her, and although it jarred Elissa to hear that bothersome nickname of hers, somehow it didn't surprise her that the strange woman knew it. "A practice you should adopt. There is something much more devastating coming than what happened to your family. More devastating than the Blight, even. If you're going to make the difference I believe you will, you need to listen up and not try to save everybody you come across."_

_Elissa gaped. These words had been said to her before, she knew, but she couldn't quite recall…_

_Brighid went on, "The balance is shifting. The Blight is only the beginning of what lies ahead. If Ferelden – or any part of Thedas – is to weather the storm, things must change. People need reason to hope again. If they don't believe…" She shook her head. "If they don't believe, the future is a foreboding thing indeed."_

_"Believe what?" Elissa whispered._

_"That there is hope," Brighid replied softly. "That one person can make a difference."_

_Elissa didn't like the way the strange woman was watching her. "One person –?"_

_"I think you have the potential to be one such person," Brighid continued, eyeing her meaningfully. "But I have been wrong before. My hopes sometimes don't factor in the faults that naturally plague the hearts of mortals." Her expression turned serious and she held Elissa's gaze. "I think you know what yours are: pride, ignorance and obstinacy." The echoing lilt of the woman's voice had become more pronounced, and the shadows had begun to dim her vibrant colour. "These things will define you. Left unchecked, they will destroy you. Overcome them and you will endure. Know that not every sacrifice is a vain one."_

_"Just what exactly do you think is going to happen?" Elissa exclaimed._

_"It's not for you to know the future. Recognizing your fate and accepting it are two different things. Perhaps you understand this, perhaps you think you do," Brighid said lightly. Her voice was becoming fainter. "I've already broken quite a few rules even approaching you."_

_"Then why did you?"_

_"Because I truly hope that on some level you will remember my words in coming days."_

_"Why wouldn't I?" Elissa asked, confused._

_"Mortals rarely remember their dreams very well," the woman's smile widened. "You fell asleep ten minutes ago."_

Elissa jerked awake with a gasp, staring around the campsite.

Everything was as it should be; the horses stood silently at the edge of the camp, while Duncan lay nearby. Garm was curled by Elissa's feet, lounging yet alert. His ears twitched at her movement, upright and alert, but he remained still, listening for sounds too low for her to hear.

There was no sign that anyone had been sitting by the flickering flames of the camp, and no footprints to suggest any visitors had slipped inside.

Elissa still shivered and then cursed herself for falling asleep. It had taken a lot of effort to convince Duncan to let her take the watch tonight. He had been taking the longest watches since they started out, apparently to give her time to rest and get used to their travel pace. The gesture was touching, but useless, she feared. She couldn't sleep, but it was not the unfamiliarity of sleeping in the rough which caused the insomnia – at least not all of it.

'At least I didn't dream of home again,' she thought, rubbing the bridge of her nose and wincing as the movement pulled at her healing wound. 'But whatever I did dream…was strange…I think.'

Even as her dream swirled away, like water seeping into sand, and the details became no more than a shadow, the feeling of uneasiness that had preoccupied her entire watch refused to abate. If anything, it got stronger.

She glanced over at Duncan, considering the merits of disturbing him. On the one hand, she didn't want to interrupt his fitful rest for nothing more than a feeling, but on the other hand if it was something, his abilities would be needed.

He slumbered – or at least, she thought he did. For a man that was so calm and collected during the day, he was a restless sleeper. She had noticed whenever they stopped to rest the animals and he stole several moments for himself that he did not fall into a calm stupor. He would frown at his dreams, sometimes mumbling words she couldn't understand, sometimes grasping for invisible weapons. Occasionally he would wake himself up, the restless tossing suddenly becoming still as he became aware of his surroundings. And then he would slip back to his erratic torpor yet again.

Although she wondered what could possibly disturb such an intense man's thoughts, she didn't ask him about it. She told herself that as a Grey Warden, he would have seen things that she had only heard stories of. And not all of them good. Perhaps he was remembering old battles or friends lost. This she understood even better.

The little rest she forced herself to take was littered with memories she wished she didn't have. Despite being exhausted, she couldn't succumb to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she found herself back in Highever. She relived seeing Iona's throat torn open by an arrow and her father's lifeblood draining onto the dirty cobblestones of the larder. Even worse was when memories gave way to imagination, creating hundreds of scenarios of what had happened to her mother and Ser Gilmore and the rest of the castle's inhabitants after Duncan had forced her out of the keep.

The constant burning, gnawing ache roared to life within her, so painful that she almost wished that she still existed within the haze of disbelief that had filled her first few days after Howe's treachery. She couldn't remember much of that time. Her self-awareness had disappeared in favor of simply making it from one moment to the next, ignoring the hurt. She had tried to divorce herself from it, denying the truth even though her father's blood was still caked under her fingernails. It wasn't until the confrontation with the brigands that she had finally woken up, the physical and mental pain becoming real in one terrifying moment.

The knife-wound across the side of her face itched like fire, but that meant it was healing well. The women who had seen to it were not as skilled as the healer from Summerside, but their stitching had been neat and clean. The injury would not fester, though she would carry the scar for the rest of her life. Elissa knew that only a fraction of an inch had saved her vision from being damaged, and it gave her a cold chill to think what else the blade might have done if Duncan hadn't intervened.

'If Duncan hadn't distracted them and saved my sorry arse,' she corrected herself with the grim embarrassment that came from knowing she had done something extremely stupid. Although four days had passed since the incident, she couldn't help the sick feeling of disgust at herself whenever she thought about it. Still, she forced herself to relive the moment over and over, punishment for ignoring her training and common sense.

She had spent her life learning about when it was right to fight and how to go about it properly, and she had ignored all of it in a fit of anger and grief. She barely remembered her intent as she charged toward the burning homesteads – emotions and half-formed thoughts about saving the people there. She couldn't recall the fight or the faces of the men she had killed. Along with those she had fought in Highever, they were no more than blurs of colour and movement.

It had been something inane that brought her back.

She hadn't registered her wound or the knowledge that the men around her were actually dead. But for some reason, she had been unable to look away from the long plait of hair that a dead bandit grasped. Something about this penetrated the veil where the reality of her family's fate and the angry deaths of the bandits could not.

Seeing the brigand's hand wrapped around the braid – her hair, which was exactly the same shade as her brothers', and the same colour her father's had been before it turned gray – and feeling the light breeze against her neck where none had been before, she had felt a stray thought take hold. How many times had she wanted to cut it off, and how many times had her mother shouted her down, she wondered as she watched several strands of hair tugged from the braid by the wind. 'Mother will be furious.'

"For all that you forget it, you are a lady and you will outfit yourself as accords your station," the Teryna would tell her repeatedly. And then her eyes would soften, and she would take Elissa's face into her hands with tender firmness. "You are my beautiful girl. Just because you are training in a man's art doesn't mean you should forsake your womanly qualities. You cannot deny a part of yourself without sacrificing all of you. There needs to be balance, darling."

"I can be a woman without dressing up like a courtesan," Elissa would retort, defiant and deaf to her mother's words. "There's no practical use or it!"

"Not everything needs a practical use, darling," her mother would say with a sigh, closing the matter until the next opportunity.

'She used to get so angry if I even threatened to do it,' Elissa thought as she considered the dead bandit. 'And now…she never will. Because she's dead. And so is Father.'

And Nan, Ser Gilmore, Iona, Dairren…probably Mithra and countless men and youths that she had grown up with and trained with…

The magnitude of what had happened hit her then, and she had felt something in her break. The next thing she knew, she was on the ground, a rending, searing chasm opening up somewhere inside her that flooded her senses with agony. Whether she sat there seconds or days, she hadn't known, but then she was being lifted to her feet by Duncan, while the familiar, comforting warmth of Garm pressed in beside her as she sobbed, unable to stop.

Elissa sighed now, glancing up into the night sky. The moon was full, but somehow it wasn't a comfort. The tips of the trees almost completely blocked the pale light, making the forest even more oppressive in the dark. The travelling may have been easier since they left behind the rough, hostile terrain that surrounded West Hill, but the forest brought with it its own problems. Although they had found a clearing this night, they had camped in a dense part the night before, where the trees were so thick that the only the worn road appeared to separate them. Elissa was amazed that they hadn't come across any other bands of thieves in their travels, but was thankful all the same.

She looked over at the Grey Warden again, for the umpteenth time overtaken by a sense of bewilderment. She still didn't understand what she was doing here. By all rights, after she lost control of herself, he should have left her behind. If she had been in his place she would have left her behind.

And yet here they were.

After the last of the bandit corpses were carried away, Duncan had left her to have her wounds seen to while he went after their horses. The entire time she had spent preparing herself for her dismissal, and had even gone after him so that he could do it all the sooner. She left Garm with the villagers, who seemed comforted by his presence. He remained by the side of heavily pregnant woman and her son, watching the villagers try to recover themselves from the attack.

Elissa had found Duncan not far from the hamlet, barely a ten minute walk. He had found the horses, which were pawing impatiently at the forest floor, and he was staring off into the distance. She had started forward, but upon seeing his intense look of contemplation she had paused and considered returning to the village. But then he had looked up and the expression of fierce determination took her off guard.

"Is that the only damage?" he had asked, taking in the stitched wound and shorn hair.

She had nodded, and then hesitantly asked, "Were…were you hurt at all?"

He appeared surprised, although she got the impression it was because he had not yet thought about his own self, not because the question was odd.

"No," he had said shortly.

"I wanted…" she had started to speak but stopped at the fearful timber in her voice. She had had no right to be fearful, and so she had cleared her throat and began again, louder, "I wanted to apologize." She had tried to meet his gaze, but found shame weighed her down. So she had stared instead at the clearing floor. "I'm sorry. You haven't…seen me at my best."

"Taking off like that was stupid," he had told her bluntly. "You could have gotten yourself killed, or someone else. " She hadn't been able to meet his gaze. "Are you so desperate the join your parents that you intend to throw yourself into every danger that presents itself?"

This had made her look up and she spoke before she thought about her words.

"I don't want that! At the time I thought…the girl was in trouble – the village was under attack. I had to help, or they would all be dead –"

"I'm not arguing with that," he had cut her off, "but rushing headlong into a situation that you know nothing about was foolhardy. What if those men had had archers? Or a mage? Bands of outlaws sometimes shelter apostates." He had paused to let that sink in. "There's no saying that couldn't have been true in this case. I am surprised you were never taught to assess a situation before rushing in."

She had been momentarily shamefaced, but hadn't been able to fight the inborn tendency to defend herself. "I was, but…there was no time…"

"Even when there is no time, unless someone is running at you with a sword, doing the first thing that pops into your head is not the right choice."

"It…it still worked out…" The argument was hollow even in her ears.

"This time. Next time you may not be so lucky."

The words had reminded her that she deserved the lecture, and that she had come to him not only expecting one, but a dismissal as well.

Her jaw clenched, but she had nodded. "I know." She had looked up at him and made herself meet his gaze. "I understand if you don't want me to travel with you any longer. I am a…liability."

For some reason, this seemed to take him off guard. He had paused, looking at her with an unreadable expression, and then shook his head with a sigh. "You are not a liability."

"Don't lie," she had told him pointedly. "I'm no use to my own self right now, let alone the Grey Wardens."

"Not yet," he had agreed. "The fact that you recognize that is promising." She hadn't been convinced, and he had continued, "You could not have saved them." At her confused look, he had added, "Your parents." She had felt cold and the need to clap her hands over her ears, but instead she had remained frozen to the spot as Duncan continued to speak. "No one saw the Arl's treachery coming. Even if you had been at your father's side when Howe's men first attacked, who is to say you both might not have died? Howe was going to betray your father no matter what – whether you were in the castle or not, at his side or not."

She had felt desperate anger. "I might have –!"

"You can't save everyone."

"That doesn't mean I shouldn't try –"

"You are only human," he had told her curtly. "If you are to survive in this world, you can't feel guilty over every person you didn't save, even if it is your own family. As a Grey Warden, you won't be able to right every wrong that you come across. In fact, you may be called upon to make terrible decisions and do even more terrible deeds. There will be times when you will have to sacrifice for the greater good, whether it is a child or an entire city." A chilling resolve entered his gaze. "A Warden does whatever it takes, no matter their personal feelings."

She opened her mouth to speak and then paused as the meaning of his words sank in. He was not ordering her away. For whatever reason, he wasn't dismissing her. She couldn't help the feelings of disbelief that threatened to overwhelm her. The practical part of her mind told her that it would be better for the Grey Warden if she left, but there was a smaller, more selfish part that reminded her that she had no idea how to travel on her own.

'It was selfishness that caused all of this,' she had reminded herself. 'Howe's selfishness – and my own. Duncan's right. Mother and Father are dead. I can never bring them back. I can never apologize for wanting to run off before… or for leaving them to die.'

It was a bleak truth, and even as she thought it she remembered the intense love and trust in her father's gaze, and her mother's pride. It had made a painful lump grow in her throat, threatening tears again.

This was a chance, wasn't it? A chance to make up for some of the pain selfish deeds had caused. Being a Grey Warden would mean helping people, saving them from a creeping darkness that might rob them of what Elissa had already lost. And it would bring her into contact with those who could punish Howe. Every fibre of her being craved vengeance, but she knew she couldn't carry it out now. And if she took the Grey, she would lose even that possibility because she would need to give up her family ties.

Whatever it takes.

Duncan's words echoed in her head. She knew that they pertained to the Blight and the darkspawn, but she wondered if they might not hold deeper meaning. She had to remove herself from the equation, it was true, but that didn't mean she couldn't ensure that justice prevailed. Duncan had promised they would tell the king of Howe's treachery – with any luck, Fergus would be nearby and she could tie up that end. If he wasn't there or had been ambushed by some more of Howe's agents – she tried not to think too deeply of this – she needed to send word to Aedan in the Free Marches. Because she was not yet a Grey Warden, it was still her responsibility to ensure this happened. Afterward, she could pursue her own penance and cast off her name if she had to.

But they needed to get to Ostagar first.

"Whatever it takes," she had murmured to herself, trying to steel herself to ramifications of the idea. Her choice was exactly what had been decided the night her world ended, but somehow it had more meaning now. It tasted more real than the abstract talk she barely remembered from that night, and something about it terrified her. She had finally met Duncan's gaze, setting her jaw stubbornly. "If that is the adage I must live by, I will do so. We will keep to your original suggestion. First we tell the king and Fergus about Howe, and then I will renounce my title if that is what must be done to help the Wardens. I will not lose sight of the plan again."

Duncan had appeared satisfied. "Let us go then."

She had been surprised. "We aren't staying here tonight? The villagers have offered to put us up."

"No," Duncan had shaken his head. "We can't afford to be drawn into their rebuilding process. And they will not be able to spare any supplies, so we will continue on until we find somewhere else. I have a stop in mind. We can still make it before dark."

She had opened her mouth to question him again, and then stopped herself. If she was to accept her new role, she would have to stop asking questions. Hadn't her training as a knight tried to teach her that questioning a superior could do more harm than good? Duncan's words and conduct had given her no reason to doubt his leadership, or his fighting capabilities.

She had busied herself with taking the horses from him and decided to go find Garm, when she suddenly heard her mother's words rise up from her memories.

'You cannot deny a part of yourself without sacrificing your whole self.'

Duncan was right that she couldn't save everyone. But she had grown up believing that she was training herself to make a difference. If she gave that up now, even to join the Wardens and work for the rest of her life with the one goal in mind, how was that any better than simply offering herself up to Howe in a single-minded attempt at vengeance?

She stopped and looked back at the Warden, who continued watching her with a frown. "Duncan?"

"Yes?"

"I meant it. I will do credit to your Wardens. I'll do whatever it takes to fight the Blight." Her eyes had narrowed in challenge. "But if my path puts me in a situation where I can make a difference without sacrificing that duty…I won't go out of my way to avoid it."

And she had meant it.

Granted, as she thought about her words right now, they seemed a little dramatic, but the sentiment was genuine in any case. While she had been told that being a Grey Warden was a calling, being true to her own character in the service of that calling seemed just as important.

'Fergus and Aedan would be making fun of me right now,' she thought sadly, idly rubbing her hands together to stave off the nip of the autumn air. 'They would say I was being paranoid – after they chewed me out for being such a fool. I wonder what they're doing now?'

Aedan would be upon a ship at this moment, if Howe's men hadn't ambushed him en route. It would be months before she could reach him with news of what had happened. For all that he had grown up outside of Highever, he had cared about their father greatly. And though Elissa's mother had never openly welcomed his presence, he had respected the Teryna. It felt odd to realize that Aedan was the last heir of the Couslands, with Elissa being drafted into the Wardens and if something had happened to Fergus.

'Fergus,' Elissa thought, pained. 'It's not only Howe's acquisition of Highever I have to tell him about. I have to look my brother in the eye and tell him that his wife and son are dead too.'

She still had no idea how she was going to accomplish that –

Elissa blinked, her thoughts leaving off. An intense, dizzy sluggishness began to settle on her, different from anything she had ever felt before. It was almost as if an invisible part of her was being drawn away, making her detached and disoriented. She shook her head, trying to clear the sensation away, but it wouldn't stop. She grasped her sword close to her, still able to move with ease, but the action seemed wrong. There was an odd disconnect between her brain and her efforts, almost akin to the sensation of standing up too quickly.

By her feet, Garm raised his head, a low tremor coming from the back of his throat. He felt it too.

"Duncan?" she murmured, keeping her voice low. A whisper could easily carry in the silent woods and would alert anyone who happened to be nearby. "I think we have company."

Only someone looking for the subsequent motion would have seen it. She watched the muscles in his neck twitch, and he peered out at her from beneath hooded lids, still feigning sleep. From a clenching movement beneath the thick cloak, she surmised that he had a dagger at the ready; his sword lay near enough to him that he would be able to grasp with ease should he need to, but his armour remained where he had placed it before going to sleep.

The invisible pull was getting stronger, and she looked up, sharply scanning the clearing beyond the light of the fire. The feel of the glade had changed, the sudden silence all around making the hair on the back of her neck rise. Keeping her movements slow and careful, she began to unsheathe her sword while motioning to Garm to remain completely still.

A sound came from the trees behind her – a twig snapping! She was on her feet, sword unsheathed in her hand in the same movement. The sensation of having stood up too quickly threatened to down her, but she shifted her weight to her knees to stabilize herself. A fraction of a second later, she felt rather than saw the approach from somewhere to her left and turned accordingly. Her stomach clenched at the sight of six figures, their heavy plate armour gleaming in the firelight, striding forward.

Garm growled still louder as they approached, unsheathing their own weapons. A flurry of movement behind her told her Duncan was on his feet, and the scrape of steel against scabbard told her he was now armed with his sword. The strangers' full plate mail had made her think of knights she had fought with, but as the group came closer, she saw that they wore closed cylindrical headgear and their armour was incised with a symbol like a burning sword.

Templars.

Her first impulse upon recognition was to relax, and only the sight of the swords directed at her kept her from doing so. Elissa had seen Templars before, guarding the Chantry in Highever and those in other towns she had visited. She had nothing but respect and admiration for them. They were devoted to their cause, and remained some of the best disciplined and best outfitted warriors in all of Thedas.

'They would have to be,' she thought, 'to protect people from dark magic.'

The few Templars she had met seemed well-enough. They were a self-sacrificing bunch and devout in their commitment to the Maker, but she had always felt comforted by their presence. Until now, it seemed; a feeling needled at the back of her mind.

There was only one reason for a Templar force to be travelling through a dark forest in the middle of the night: to hunt down runaway mages. Given that they had snuck up on the camp in such a silent fashion, and the way they were poised to act against herself and Duncan made her think the Templars might be suspicious of them for some reason.

'Why?' she thought blankly, but a moment later the answer came to her. If she had been patrolling an area and happened to see a man such as Duncan, who even in his sleep radiated the aura of a fighter, and an armed woman with a mabari at her feet, she would have been suspicious too. She would have considered several possibilities – mercenaries, deserting soldiers, bandits – all of which offered such feelings of untrustworthiness that it would have been remiss not to investigate. If the Templars already believed them to be suspicious, how far a stretch was it to assume they might believe them to know where there were mages? Or worse, assail them for it?

Evidently Duncan seemed to think this as well.

"Come no further," he ordered, his rich voice resonating throughout the clearing. The invisible draw did not abate. She had a feeling the latter was coming from the Templars, but made a motion to Garm all the same, keeping him from assaulting them. "If you wish to parlay, speak now, but if you attack, my charge and I will defend ourselves. As you can see, your abilities have not rendered us defenseless."

The last part didn't quite make sense to her, but the foremost Templar appeared to understand. He stepped forward and raised a hand in response. The pulling sensation dissipated almost immediately. He spoke then, and despite the odd muffling of his helm, his voice carried as well as Duncan's had. "We would avoid bloodshed as well. Who are you and what is the business of so small a party on such a dangerous road?"

"I am Duncan, Commander of Ferelden's Grey Wardens," her companion said openly. "We are journeying to Ostagar to join the offensive against the darkspawn."

The leader of the force seemed to recognize the name, at least. Abruptly he reached up and took off his helmet. He was a ruddy-faced man with greying blond hair and cool brown eyes.

"Warden-Commander," his voice was stiff despite its tone of familiarity. "I did not recognize you."

Elissa privately thought this to be impossible. Duncan was one of the most easily recognizable individuals she had ever met, and it was not because he was the only man of Rivaini blood she had ever seen. He exuded such a commanding and charismatic presence that she doubted anyone would ever forget the man, even if they had not spent more than a few minutes in his presence.

"Erramun," Duncan nodded. "It is always a pleasure to run into you."

"I'm sure," the man said coldly. His eyes fell on Elissa. "And who is this? Another recruit?" He snorted, as though he found the concept funny.

Elissa couldn't help raising her eyebrow in confusion.

"Erramun does not approve of the Wardens," Duncan explained to her, eyes never leaving the Templar's face. He sounded amused, but she detected a subtle stiffening of his back. "He is one of those who truly believes we exist for no other reason than to provide murderers, criminals and apostates a means of escaping the law."

"For good reason," Erramun harrumphed. He gestured in Elissa's direction and asked Duncan, "What justified punishment did you deliver this unfortunate soul from? A particularly raucous brothel? Or the gallows perhaps?"

Elissa treated the Templar to a disdainful look. In the past, insults to her family had been settled in quiet fisticuffs with her age mates, however she knew that would be a bad idea in this case. Even in her irritation, she knew it was folly to provoke a fight with a Templar. They were as well-trained as knights, if not better due to their purpose of fighting mages. Still, she could not let the slight hang in the air. She was still a Cousland, and for as short a time as she remained so, she would brook no insult to her lineage.

She inclined her head at him at just the right angle as befitted his station. "I am Elissa Cousland, daughter of Teryn Bryce Cousland of Highever and Teryna Eleanor, late of West Hill."

This brought a lengthy pause and Elissa could practically feel the surprise and disbelief her words caused. Duncan looked like he was torn between disapproval and amusement, but she kept her head high. One of the Templars farthest away glanced up sharply, while their leader ostensibly sized her up. Instead of replying in the cordial manner she was used to, Erramun laughed harshly, "If you're a teryn's daughter, I'm the Queen of Antiva."

Elissa narrowed her eyes, and then swept into the low curtsey that she would have used if she were greeting a monarch, which probably wasn't as impressive while wearing bloodstained leather armour as it would have been in a sweeping skirt, but achieved a similar affect nonetheless. "Your Majesty. Had I known I was in the presence of royalty, I would have worn my finest gown."

The younger Templar that had been eyeing her snorted with something suspiciously like laughter, which he converted to a cough upon being noticed.

Erramun made a sour face. "I've never heard of a noblewoman eschewing the duties and comforts of her estate in favour of travelling deserted roads by night. And I've certainly never heard of a teryn's daughter bearing arms."

"I have, ser," the young Templar said, recovered from his impromptu coughing fit.

Erramun made a motion for him to speak up. He strode forward hesitantly, removed his helmet and bowed his head politely. He had wavy brown hair and his face looked rather familiar.

"My name is Cedric, my lady." He introduced and then addressed the other Templar. "When my brother was a squire he wrote me about the younger sister of his knight-master who was allowed to train as a warrior. He said she was the talk of the barracks because no one had ever heard of a noble's daughter being allowed to practice alongside the squires and pages." He smiled at her shyly. "I believe this is she."

"Your brother?" Elissa asked already feeling a note of apprehension.

"He was only knighted recently, my lady, I don't know if you would know him," Cedric said.

Suddenly Cedric's familiar face made sense to her. Her mouth was dry, but she forced out the words. "Was your brother Roderick Gilmore?"

Cedric's eyes lit up cheerfully. "So you do know him!"

Elissa felt as though she had been jabbed in the stomach. A lump rose in her throat, and she glanced at Duncan for help. He merely motioned for her to continue, sympathy in his eyes as she faced the brother of her dead friend. As the daughter of Roderick's liege lord, it fell to her to deliver the news.

"I…I knew him," she managed, willing her voice to be strong. "A kinder, more loyal soul there never was."

"'Knew'?" Cedric repeated, his voice rising in confusion. "'Was'? Has something happened?"

"I am sorry that I have to tell you this, Cedric," Elissa said quietly. "Your brother…I believe he perished nearly more than a week ago defending my family's castle." The young man's face fell. "I tried to convince him to come with us, but he wouldn't have it."

"No, Roderick knew his duties," Cedric said sadly. "Dying in service to his lord…he would have considered it a good death, I think."

"He was a good friend," Elissa told him earnestly. "He's the reason I'm alive today. He beheaded a mage that would have killed me."

She could see pride in his eyes, despite the grief. "Thank you, my lady. I will…have to write our father, so that he knows…if he doesn't already." He closed his eyes. "He is with the Maker now."

Elissa would have been content to give the young Templar a moment more to process this grief, but Erramun did not seem to believe this necessary.

"Why was your castle attacked?" he demanded, still sounding gruff, although she supposed he now believed her words.

"A traitorous opportunist decided he deserved more than his lot," Elissa replied darkly, careful to keep pain from lacing her words. "He massacred my family and seized our land. It is by Duncan's interference that I escaped with my life. We will inform the King of this treachery upon reaching Ostagar."

"That is, if we are permitted to continue on our journey," Duncan spoke up. "I admit, based on your arrival here I would think you had something else in mind for us."

Garm punctuated this statement with a growl, while one of the other Templars muttered something under their breath.

Erramun considered the dog with dislike, and said, "It is late in the season for travelers."

"I admit, it has been a while since I encountered a band of Templars on the road," Duncan continued, considering each of the visitors to the clearing as they too removed their helms. His tone was polite, but there was a hardness in his eyes as he continued, "but last I looked it was not the habit of Templars to ambush unsuspecting travelers who boast no magic. Have the Chantry's practices changed, or do my charge and I so greatly resemble your usual targets?"

"You would do well not to question the methods of those in service to the Maker!" snapped the Templar standing by Cedric, the one who had muttered before. Elissa was surprised to realize that it was a woman's voice. She had known that women were permitted to be Templars, but she had never actually met one. This one was short-haired and square-jawed, with spiteful brown eyes that roved over the inhabitants of the camp and obviously found them wanting. She spoke in a thick brogue that was hard for Elissa to place, although it rang familiarly. She frowned, trying to figure it out.

"Peace, Greer," the Erramun ordered. He met Duncan's gaze. "When we saw the fire in the distance, we had to investigate. Obviously you aren't our usual quarry, but the forests are littered with brigands and mercenaries that have no qualms about sheltering apostates. We needed to find out."

"And announcing yourselves and asking us civilly just wasn't an option?" Elissa asked dryly, the Templar's manner making her feel waspish. "Remind me to steer clear of the Circle. It must be a madhouse."

"You've no idea," Cedric said, and then winced as his fellows turned toward him with annoyed expressions on their faces. The female Templar, Greer, seemed to bristle at this, but remained silent.

"Are you looking for someone in particular?" Duncan asked, steering the conversation back to the matter at hand. "It is possible that we can be of assistance."

Erramun smiled bitterly. "I'm sure you understand my hesitance to involve your order."

"The Wardens are more likely to recruit apostates than help catch them," Greer spoke up, apparently unable to hold her tongue any longer. Her elusive accent continued to trouble Elissa. "It would be better if we didn't involve them."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Elissa demanded. She thought she saw Duncan roll his eyes skyward, but she could have been mistaken.

Greer barely glanced at her, fixing Duncan in a frosty stare. "It is as Erramun said. The Grey Wardens provide a haven for traitors, murderers, maleficarum and who knows what else. Their word means nothing."

The woman's accusations were like a slap in the face, and Elissa almost gave in to the automatic response of demanding satisfaction from her. But the thought that she herself had been planning to desert her duty to her family brought her up short. Perhaps the Templar had a point there, Elissa did not know. Duncan was the only Grey Warden she had met, and even his past was a mystery to her. Still, he had never lied to her and his commitment to ending the Blight was the most earnest truth she had ever heard spoken. Greer's insult could not be let pass.

"You insult the honour of a good man and a respected order, Templar," she said coolly. "Whatever your opinions, custom dictates an apology for your rudeness."

This time the woman did look at her, scorn plain on her face. "The code you nobles follow and call chivalry is nothing more than a farce of appearance and symbol dressed up as truth and honor. Your custom means nothing to me or the One I serve."

Elissa clenched her fists. She felt a hand on her shoulder – Duncan appeared ready to hold her back should her control fail her – but shrugged it off. Although she dearly wanted to wipe the woman's scowl from her face, preferably in a rather physical and violent manner, she knew better. Besides, Greer's accent had finally jogged a memory of hers.

She adopted what she hoped was the look her mother had always worn when in the company of a particularly odious noble and regarded the Templar with cold eyes.

"I have heard it said that there is no one as fanatical as a convert," Elissa told her conversationally. "I had not believed it until now."

"What are you're talking about?" Greer snapped.

"Don't treat me as though I'm stupid. I'm no common wench parading around in armour invoking the word of the Maker to justify my actions to myself and others," Elissa retorted loftily. "I suppose it is understandable that I understand custom and loyalty better than an Avvar highlander would – whether she believes she has left her people and her gods for good or not."

Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't this. Greer made a strangled, rage-filled noise, her hand on the hilt of her sword as she turned an angry red, "Don't presume you know anything about me!"

"Then I would accept the same courtesy from you," Elissa answered, pointedly dismissing the woman as she looked back to the Templar leader.

She had a suspicion that the female Templar would have leaped at her if one of her fellows hadn't nudged her meaningfully, the sound of armour clanking against armour echoing in the clearing. Greer contented herself with glaring daggers at her. Meanwhile, Duncan was regarding Elissa with a resigned look, and she shrugged. It occurred to her that she was not exactly acting as dignified as she should, but the other woman galled her.

Greer reminded her of old Mother Mallol, Highever's priestess for as long as Elissa could remember. Thanks to her rather zealous teachings, Elissa could recite the entire Chant of Light by heart if she had to. Her knees ached just thinking of the woman, whose preferred method for dealing with mistakes in recitation involved having Elissa and Fergus kneel on a thin pointer until they could properly deliver the chant. Said lessons had continued until one day when Elissa was ten. Her father had walked in, taken one look at his children's faces, and angrily decreed that they had received sufficient instruction that they could be trusted to carry out their devotions on their own. Elissa and Fergus had not stepped foot into a Chantry after this, but neither would ever forget the Chant. Greer seemed to embody what Mallol could have been if she had been a Templar.

'People like that need to be taken down a peg,' Elissa thought grimly. 'I'm sure the Maker thinks so too.' She made a face. 'All right, that was slightly blasphemous. But still.'

"Forgive my companion," Duncan was saying. "As you can see, she has a bit of a temper she hasn't yet learned to control."

"Unfortunately, mine does not have the same excuse," Erramun said, frowning at Greer. "Perhaps she was taken too early from training – however frank her words were, though, she does have a point with regard to the reputation of the Wardens. Your order has been known to Conscript those who have been deemed dangerous in the eyes of the Chantry. Who is to say you would not do the same in this case?"

"Who is to say your definition of dangerous isn't relative?" Duncan replied with a smile that belied its innocence. Elissa couldn't mask her surprise. Duncan was practically admitting to the accusation. "If you want our help – as I suspect you do, because you would have departed right away if it were not the case – you need to be completely honest with us."

Erramun considered Duncan purposefully.

"I will tell you what I can," he finally hedged, ignoring a muffled sound of outrage from Greer. "A fortnight ago, two mages and a Chantry initiate attempted to escape the circle. The initiate and one of the mages were caught, but the second mage escaped…using blood magic."

The lowering pitch of his voice conveyed utmost disgust, and Elissa felt her own stomach become queasy. Nan's stories had sometimes spoken of terrible mages who used their own blood and the blood of others to achieve their will, and every history lesson she had ever had on the Tevinter Imperium had spoken of the lengths to which the magister lords there went to maintain their power. To know that such magic was being practiced in Ferelden…

She shuddered.

"While I understand that a blood mage is of considerable concern to you, you would have had to be a lot more careful in your search than we have seen tonight," Duncan commented. "I take it there is more to this story that would account for your carelessness."

"You are too bold, ser!" Greer spoke up heatedly.

"No," Erramun cut her off. "He is perceptive." He turned back to Duncan and Elissa. "There…have been other escapes."

"Isn't it the Templars job to make sure that _doesn't_ happen?" Elissa asked, genuinely confused.

Erramun's expression was stony. "Yes, it is. I am not above saying we failed in that regard." He took a deep breath, and then continued. "The mage who we caught after the first escape was placed in solitary confinement until it could be decided what to do with her. Two days later, three more mages somehow made it into the Circle's dungeons and broke her out. The four of them escaped together." He sighed. "As I'm sure you're aware, if this got out it would be a great embarrassment to the Chantry. We intend to get a handle on it as soon as possible." And then, he passed a hand over his face, weary. "We have never had so many break out at one time."

"But you've had mages escape before," Elissa stated bluntly. "Didn't that give anyone cause to question how they did it? And maybe – I don't know – stop it?"

"It isn't simply a case of plugging up a hole, you silly girl," Greer told her coldly.

"That's twice you've offered a snide comment without invitation," Elissa told her bluntly. "A third time and I take no responsibility for my actions."

"Elissa…" Duncan's voice held a warning, and she held her tongue. He continued, addressing Erramun as though there had been no interruption, "I was under the impression that Templars had means of tracking runaway mages."

"We do," Erramun granted. "However in this case…they were rendered useless. As it is, it remains imperative that we find them…" He trailed off, obviously wanting to add something, but ended only with, "It is in their best interest if we find them quickly."

Duncan nodded thoughtfully, but Elissa frowned. There was something not being said, and so she asked, "Why?"

Erramun glanced at her. "Why what?"

"Why would it be in their best interest if you catch them?" she qualified. "In their minds, their best interest is staying free of the Circle – I'm not saying I agree with it, I'm just saying that after plotting to escape, they would hardly want to come back. Especially not if they can expect being thrown in your dungeons again."

"A fair point," Duncan granted, and gestured expectantly at Erramun. "Unless you believe they would be too unproven outside of the Circle's confines to survive very long?"

"Yes and no," the Templar leader said, shifting uncomfortably. "Three of the apostates grew up outside prior to the Chantry becoming aware of their presence. They would know how to survive on the outside."

"Then you think something else poses a threat to them," Elissa realized. She crossed her arms. "I thought Templars hated mages, and yet it sounds like you're worried for these apostates."

Greer let out a wordless sound of protest, which was lost amid similar outbursts from the others. Erramun glowered at her. "I am only worried that justice might be miscarried and that a fellow Templar might act on his own selfish impulses instead of in the way prescribed by the Chantry."

"Do explain," Duncan invited.

"It's not relevant," Erramun answered. "I have already told you too much."

"That was too much?" Elissa inquired. "That was nothing at all – how are we supposed to keep an eye out for these apostates if we don't know who they are or what they can do or –"

This time Duncan's hand on her shoulder was a lot more forceful, and she clamped her mouth shut.

"We understand that this is a delicate matter for you," Duncan said civilly. "If we encounter any odd characters in our travels, we will alert the proper authorities. However, if we run into these apostates of yours and they attack us, I'm afraid we will act accordingly."

"As you should," Erramun answered. "First Enchanter Irving is the one who wants them back alive, and even Knight-Commander Greagoir intimated that he would prefer them returned to the Circle to be properly sentenced. They both maintained that killing them is a last resort in this special circumstance."

"What special circumstance?" Elissa asked before she could help herself, although she received only a glare and silence for her trouble.

"We will leave you now," Erramun said tersely. "Our camp is a ways away. Maker speed your journey, Warden-Commander." He inclined his head at Elissa. "My lady."

He gestured at his comrades to depart, and they put their helms back on. They began to amble back the way they had come.

"Andraste's blessings on you, Cedric," Elissa said quietly to the young Templar, who saluted to her to show he had heard. Elissa felt Greer's hard gaze from behind her helmet, and resisted the urge to stick out her tongue at her.

Garm did not relax until several minutes after the Templars disappeared.

"That was interesting," Duncan said, slowly returning to his pallet.

"What, midnight visits from Templars aren't something that happens during every journey?" Elissa asked, feigning shock. "The rest of the expedition will be utterly dreary, I'm sure."

Duncan frowned at her. "Your tongue seems to have recovered, at least. There was no reason for you to take such offense to the Templars' words."

"I know," Elissa sighed. "It's just…all the Templars I ever met were rather cordial to me. And suddenly those two – especially that Avvar wench, acting as though the sun shone out of her –" Noticing Duncan's expression, once again caught between amusement and exasperation, she stopped talking. "I didn't like her."

"I would never have guessed," he commented dryly with a shake of his head. "Aren't you supposed to have learned about charm and tact growing up among the nobility?"

"It's a lesson that never really stuck," Elissa replied. "A constant failing, my mother…"

Her voice caught in her throat, and she couldn't make herself go on.

Thankfully, Duncan changed the subject.

"I am surprised you knew her as an Avvar," Duncan confided. "I have had the opportunity to meet some of their people, but it is a rare thing. I was under the impression West Hill is the furthest you've traveled. How did you know about her?"

"Among his other talents, Aedan was always rather good at imitating the way people speak," Elissa explained, recovering herself slightly. "He liked…likes to bring back stories about the places he's been and the people he's met. It just so happens that on his last visit home he told me about an Avvari thane whose fief he helped get back. Half the tale he was telling in the thickest burr you can imagine. I thought he was joking, until meeting that Templar tonight."

"You have an ear for the subtleties of language," Duncan said, and though it was a statement, she detected something thoughtful in it as well. "That could be useful in the future. How good are you at sensing when someone is lying?"

"I used to think I was quite good at it," Elissa replied earnestly. "But then…after I couldn't even tell Arl Howe was…"

Again she trailed off, but this time Duncan called her on it.

"Must I remind you that it's not your fault what happened?" Duncan asked. "Besides, it's not as if you could have predicted that." He was thoughtful again, staring off in the direction the Templars had disappeared into. "Other than that business with Howe, how accurate is your sense of others' honesty?"

"As accurate as anyone else's, I suppose. I can tell when someone is acting false or trying to deceive me – I'm shite at playing the deceiver, though, as I found out the hard way in Denerim. I swear – every lying, thieving reprobate in Ferelden congregates at court. Mother always said there are more criminals behind those gilded doors than in the backstreets."

Duncan's expression remained serious. "A wise woman, your mother."

"I didn't always think so," Elissa sighed, staring up at the sky. Again, she clenched her eyes shut in response to the pain that the mention of her mother evoked. Would it ever get easier to speak about her parents? Or to remember them without their faces twisted into pain and sadness?

Garm whined, sensing her mood and sagged against her leg. She sighed, scratching his ears affectionately. At least she had one last thing to remind her of home. It would help to keep her grounded.

Something occurred to her at this thought, and she glanced up at her companion. "Duncan…did they…do something?"

"Do something?" he echoed.

"It was strange…before I saw them, there was this…odd feeling," Elissa faltered, trying to find the words to describe the sensation that had overtaken her. "I felt as though I was disconnected from my body somehow."

"Yes, that's a special gift of the Templars," Duncan allowed. At her confused expression, he raised an eyebrow. "You know that Templars hunt mages – but do you know how they do it?"

She shook her head.

"Templars don't simply look impressive, they have an array of talents that allow them to nullify the effects of spells and magic," Duncan explained. "One of the tactics they use when hunting is to ambush their victims and drain them of their mana, rendering them useless. Against non-mages like you and I, such an ability simply weakens our spirit."

"Weakens our spirit?" Elissa repeated, trying not to sound as confused as she felt.

"It's a temporary effect," Duncan said. "To a mage, it's a painful process – their magic is so entwined with their spirit that it's rather like having a physical part of them ripped away. But to us, it's simply an uncomfortable sensation."

"One that could get you killed," Elissa remarked thoughtfully. She hadn't liked the disjointed feeling that had taken over her. While not painful, it had certainly been unpleasant. She couldn't even imagine what it must be like for a mage to go through it. 'Although, I'm sure if the Templars are stripping a mage of their power, they must have done something to deserve it.'

It bothered her that she didn't sound as sure of that as she should have.

"With some training, you can learn to ignore it," Duncan was telling her. "There's a Warden waiting at Ostagar who was training to be a Templar before I recruited him. He can show you some techniques to improve your mental and spiritual resistance."

She remembered the mage at Highever. "That might be an idea."

"You seem to have some resistance to it already, probably from your training if Trevelyan made you learn slow breathing techniques and meditation," he continued. He went to sit by the fire, reaching for his armour. "I will take the rest of the watch, you try to rest. There is much I need to think about."

She wanted to argue that she had no desire to sleep, but Duncan suddenly appeared so thoughtful that she didn't. Doing as she was told, she tried to find a comfortable bit of ground to bed down on, hoping against hope that there would be no more nightmares tonight.

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

So I decided to post this early because I have some school assignments to catch up on and probably won't be able to do so Sunday, and Monday mornings don't work for me right now while I'm student-teaching. I'm also trying to get a whole bunch of chapters written so that I can put more chapters up every week, but this will have to wait until school is completely over.

This fic couldn't be possible without Cobar713's vast knowledge concerning the subject matter, his time and his patience. So, big thank you!


	7. Chapter Seven

**_Battle Maiden_**  
>by ErtheChilde<p>

* * *

><p><strong><em>"My father once told me that adventure is just someone else knee-deep in shite far from home. Maker, but I wish I had listened to him."<em>**

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Seven<em>

It was still dark when Duncan woke Elissa the next morning. Through supreme effort of will she managed to pry her eyes open, a fact which she attributed not only to lack of sleep but to her own abhorrence of getting up early. Despite six years of training at the crack of dawn, she had never enjoyed mornings. It had become clear rather quickly, though, that her new companion preferred to start the day's travel before the sun had even risen. While she had so far endured this practice with tight-lipped displeasure, she never managed to shake off her bleary-eyed stupor until they had been riding for several hours.

"Let's move," he told her as he rolled up his gear. "I would like to leave this area as soon as possible."

"What's the hurry?" she asked him thickly, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She grimaced, both at the sudden pull of skin across her still-healing wound, and at her question. She had promised herself that she would stop questioning his orders. So far, she had broken that promise at least a half-dozen times. Quickly, she amended, "I mean, 'Yes, ser'."

Duncan raised an eyebrow at her as he packed away the sack which held their cooking tools and the cloth bags with travel rations. "You're allowed to ask questions, you know. If you have an opinion about something, speak up."

"You're going to regret telling me that," she mumbled, sitting up. Her mother had always intimated that Elissa's opinions were better left unvoiced.

She felt tightness behind her eyes and blinked rapidly to avoid the tears that threatened to form. They had been coming easier since Willowsdale, which Elissa hated. Ever since she was ten and it became clear that tears would do her no good in a fight, she had trained herself not to cry just as forcefully as she had trained her body. Unfortunately, all of that control seemed to have disappeared within the last week.

She closed her eyes, taking several deep breaths to calm herself and force the gnawing burn back deep within her, into something smaller and more manageable. When she opened them again, Duncan was watching her sympathetically.

"It gets easier."

"Getting up in the morning?" she asked him in a would-be-casual tone, knowing that wasn't what he meant. "Fergus told me the same thing for years and I still don't believe it."

"The ache," he told her meaningfully, not dissuaded by her attempt at a subject change. "It never goes away, but it will stop slicing you open every time you think about it. Just give it time."

"Time won't erase the fact that I left my parents to die while our home burned around them," Elissa answered quietly. "Time won't bring them back."

"No, it won't. But it will give you distance, and the ability to think about them without their deaths infringing on every memory you have of them."

She eyed him sharply, surprised at how close his words were to what she was feeling. "What would you know of it?"

"You are not the first person to have lost their family," he told her quietly.

"I know that," she muttered, looking away. "I just…I never thought they would die that way. I always imagined…" She bit her lip, the anger and hurt warring for a hold within her. She tried to distance herself from it, but felt it slipping through the cracks of her control. She glared at the still glowing embers of their campfire. "They were meant for something better! They should have died old, in bed, surrounding by their grandchildren. Oriana always said she would have more children – I was supposed to teach Oren how to use a sword, and that will never happen either. I'll never even be able to properly care for their bodies! For all I know, Howe has their heads stuck on pikes on the castle walls!"

"It does you no good to think of such things," Duncan told her earnestly. "You cannot control any of that. All you can control is yourself. Telling the King what has occurred is the best you can do right now."

"Killing Howe would be the best thing I could do, if I were free to do it," she retorted.

"It won't change things. Even if one day you do avenge their deaths by killing him, it never frees you the way you think it will. Take it from someone who knows."

"I suppose you mean yourself?" Elissa demanded coldly before she could stop herself.

"My parents were murdered too."

This caught her up short, halting her grief-filled anger in its tracks. "What?"

"I was younger than you are now," Duncan explained as he straightened up. "My father was a carpenter. He received commissions from the highest ranks of the nobility, and he made a good living." He smiled bitterly. "No one ever tells you that too much success can get you killed. Some of his business rivals hired a cutthroat to do away with their competition. I came home to a burned shop and my parents' charred bodies. I had…a less than stellar reputation at the time, and so the ones who had paid for his death tried to pin it on me. I was forced to run."

Elissa wasn't sure how to respond to this. Finally, she managed a feeble, "I'm sorry."

Duncan waved this away and continued with his story. "Eventually I tracked the man down in one of the filthier slums of Val Royeaux. I cornered him in his home and asked him why he had done it. It turned out that he had taken the contract just to be able to feed his family for another week. He had no idea who my parents were at all – he didn't even feel remorse for the act. In his mind, he was doing whatever it took to survive and to protect the people he loved. He attacked me then and we fought. I accidentally threw him out of the window and he broke his neck. I don't know how long I stood there before it occurred to me that I needed to run. I just kept thinking that I should have felt something as soon as he died – some kind of closure or the lifting of a burden – but I didn't."

Now Duncan was meeting her gaze again, the intensity of it prohibiting her from looking away. "After the fact I discovered that his wife and six children starved the following winter because they had no means of supporting themselves. Despite having avenged my parents, I felt no different than before. And now I had seven other deaths on my hands. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"If you're implying that Howe might have had a _reason_ to kill my family –"

Duncan cut off Elissa before she could give full reign to her outburst. "No. I am simply trying to make you understand that avenging your parents' deaths will not do anything. They are beyond caring about the matters of the living any longer. Honor their memory and never forget them, but don't be defined by their deaths. I believe you are a stronger person than that."

With this he turned his back on her.

Elissa watched him thoughtfully for a moment, her brief flare of anger giving way to some measure of embarrassment. There was no reason for Duncan to have told her that or to have tried to comfort her about her family's death, and yet he had tried. Not for the first time she was surprised by his actions.

It amazed her that the Warden could be so calm and understanding in the face of her erratic behaviour. She knew that she hadn't displayed her best side since joining him, and even though she had been trying since the debacle in Willowsdale, she still couldn't help the grief eating her from the inside. It eroded every good feeling that threatened to rise up and tainted every happy memory that she had. All that remained were the sadness and guilt.

She pulled on the cloak she had been using as a blanket and rolled up the bedroll that Duncan provided. She gritted her teeth at the wave of nostalgia for her own room washed through her. What she wouldn't have given for her own bed instead of the cold ground! Her entire body was a constant stiff ache, but she refused to complain about it. She didn't want Duncan thinking that she couldn't handle the situation. Still, she felt a measure of embarrassed anger toward herself at never considering the practical side of the stories she had always loved. Certainly Queen Rowan had had to get used to sleeping in the rough – and now that she thought about it, it was highly unlikely that the revolt against Vasily the Antivan had been put on hold because Signe the Stoic was in the middle of her monthlies.

'Now that's an idea,' Elissa thought grimly. 'I never even bothered to bring linen pads. Andraste's ass, how did I become such a fool?'

She would have to see about that, and soon. Duncan had bought quite a few supplies for her use along the way, all very practical equipment that supplemented her own provisions nicely, but she highly doubted that he had thought of _that_. She would have to procure the items herself. She had already offered to compensate Duncan for everything he had already spent on her when she could, but he had waved her aside, telling her to keep the few coppers that she had.

'The last of the Cousland fortune,' she thought with bitter amusement, 'now that Howe has his greedy hands on everything else I ever owned.'

She felt immediately sorry for the thought. If she had all of the Cousland wealth in her hands, she would have handed it over in a heartbeat if it meant saving her family's lives.

The slow burn began again, and Elissa steeled herself against it. It was hard to believe Duncan's words that the feeling would ever go away.

"He's a good man, this Duncan," she reflected quietly to Garm, who yipped agreement. "Even though I don't deserve it."

The morning's chores were done in silence, and she busied herself with preparing the horses and making sure Garm was still in good enough condition to follow them. Luckily their speed hadn't been too rigorous, and Duncan usually called a rest around the same time that Garm started to falter. Although the Warden was in a hurry, his pace was more purposeful than break-neck, and based on what she knew of Ferelden's geography, she supposed they were still making excellent time. The horses went at an easy working trot, and Garm bounded along beside them joyfully. For a dog, just being outside was a pleasure, regardless of the purpose of the journey.

The weather became steadily colder the farther they travelled. It was even more noticeable along the road they had chosen to travel, which bordered Lake Calenhad's vast expanse and received the brunt of the cold air off the water. While Elissa had expected the cold from the stories Fergus had told her, it still surprised her how sharply the temperature fell as they progressed.

'Ah, Fergus,' she thought sadly. 'Where are you now – already at Ostagar, or still on the way?'

Several days earlier, she had asked Duncan why they had not caught up with the Highever forces – even though they had been half a day behind them and were travelling at a deliberate pace, they should still have been travelling faster than a moving force of more than fifty regular soldiers and half a dozen knights.

"Your brother probably took the eastern route through Denerim and down through the various arlings," Duncan told her. "The roads are much wider there – it's easier for a small army to travel that way. Also, they would have no doubt wanted to stop for more supplies in the city."

"Why didn't we take that road?" Elissa wanted to know.

"It was less likely that Howe's men would follow us that way, should they have decided to," Duncan had answered, and Elissa's heart had clenched at the name of her family's murderer. "Also, although the North Road is more difficult, it is a shorter distance."

She had had to content herself with that, and continue to hope that Fergus was alright, wherever he was.

Around midday, Elissa, Duncan and Garm neared Edgewater, a small but bustling village of two hundred or so inhabitants that was located near the crossroads separating the North Road from the Imperial Highway. Elissa expected that they would ride past without stopping, but to her surprise Duncan led them into the village itself. She thought this was odd, as they had passed by several villages and hamlets before without the Warden showing any sign of wanting to stop.

"Are we stopping here?" she asked. Garm trailed along beside them, taking in the sights of the village with interest.

"Yes," Duncan answered as they guided their horses around bemused looking villagers in the street.

"Why?"

"This might be the last place we reach for a few days where I can hire a courier," he explained

"Why do you need one?"

He chuckled. "You're a fiend for questions, aren't you?"

"I did warn you."

"I haven't been able to inform the other Wardens or the king much about our progress," Duncan explained. "I sent word with the man I recruited before you that I would be a few days behind him, but that was more than a week ago. A messenger will be able to travel a lot faster than we do."

She nodded in understanding and returned her attention to the village. It was a poorer place than the villages that had surrounded Highever, but at the same time she realized that this could be considered one of the better-off communities along the edge of the Bannorn.

All the buildings had thatched roofs, with exposed wood timbres framing the brick or stone walls. Some houses had chimneys, marking them as belonging to the more well-off denizens of the village, while others simply had holes punched through the covering to let smoke escape. What passed for streets were simply packed dirt that Elissa was sure became slick and muddy during bad weather, something that wouldn't be helped by the filth that seeped into the makeshift gutters on the roadsides. These paths all led to a rough square in the middle of the village where there were groups of villagers trading goods and selling their wares. She could hear the steady _clang__…__clang__…__clang_ of a blacksmith's hammer somewhere and in the distance she could hear someone reciting the Chant of Light. Glancing in that direction, she made out the roof of a small Chantry behind some of the houses. Far beyond these she could see a barn, probably one of several that was worked by the freeholders here.

The main stables were located almost in the middle of the city, next to what Elissa had supposed was the market area. Duncan led them to these, where they dismounted and he paid the stable boys there to care for the horses while he was gone.

"How much longer until we reach Ostagar?" Elissa asked, watching as Garm growled at a scraggy looking dog that wandered a little too close in curiosity. The cur whined and ran off.

"About a week if there are no problems," Duncan answered, digging into the satchel at his waist.

"Problems," Elissa repeated. "Like what? Aren't we more or less on schedule?"

"For now," he allowed, pulling out a coin purse, "but I have a hunch that might not be the case for the rest of our journey."

"A hunch?" She didn't bother to hide the incredulity in her voice.

He noticed it, but still smiled at her reassuringly. "Hunches have saved my life more than once. You learn to listen to them."

"I'll have to take your word for it."

"Besides the courier, there is other business to be taken care of," he continued, and then tossed her the coin purse. "Here. We haven't been able to stock up on more than the basics since leaving Summerside. I don't know about your pack, but my provisions are almost empty."

Elisa palmed the sack of coins, noting their weight, and blinked at Duncan. "There's more in here than we need for supplies."

"You need warmer clothing," he told her simply. "It's going to get colder the farther south we go, especially at night. After the cost of whatever we're running low on, see if you can't find another cloak to wear over the one you have now. Leather lined with fleece would be best for the south, but I suspect the supplies here are probably simpler quality than that, so you may have to content yourself with wool; undyed, if you can find it. That will likely be more waterproofed."

"I…thank you," Elissa murmured, taken aback by this.

Duncan shook his head. "The Wardens are a collective. When travelling together, we often share the same purse. I am doing no more than my duty to outfit my recruits."

"Regardless," Elissa replied genuinely. "Thank you."

Duncan shrugged, as though he wasn't used to being thanked in quite so sincere a manner. "I will meet you back here within the hour and we will depart."

At first, Elissa thought she wasn't likely to find anything in the village – most villages still worked primarily on a barter system because they weren't very close to the central cities where coin was widely used. She was pleasantly surprised upon entering the tiny market area to find traders and merchant caravans that had stopped within Edgewater to ply their wares.

She managed to stock up on their medicinal supplies, as well as a decent bow and quiver of arrows; she was getting tired of surviving on trail rations and what little game she and Duncan were able to trap as they travelled or what Garm brought in.

'I may not be as good an archer as Mother is…was…' her thoughts trailed off as the usual pain stirred within her, but she forced herself to finish the sentiment, 'I can be of some use, I think.'

She visited the small butcher's stand for smoked meats and sausages that would keep while they were on the road, thick black bread that would last as well. She finally came upon a caravan owned by a wild-looking duo of Avvar traders where she procured a thick fur cloak. To her delight, they did accept her coin, although they looked at Garm with overt interest that suggested they wanted to make an offer. Her hound appeared to notice this, though, and one growl in their direction was enough to make them think twice about making the proposition.

The wind off the distant lake was chilly even in the village, but as it wasn't cold enough yet to have to wear her new cloak, she simply quickened her step and hoped movement would chase away the cold. People stared at her, either for her gender or the sword at her hip she wasn't sure, but mostly left her alone. A group of shabby-looking boys around Oren's age started to follow her around, whispering and shushing each other, but when she grew tired of their attention and glowered at them, they dispersed in a hurry.

"…heard stories from Wendall over in Ironbrook when he was here last…told me the most outrageous lies about seeing darkspawn," she heard, wandering past a group of women who were washing clothing in a trough in front of one of the homesteads. "I tells him that if he seen 'em, he wouldn't be talking to me about it…"

"Well, you know southerners," another said contemptuously. "They're close enough to Chasind that they're all mad anyhow."

She continued to listen to the idle chatter as she and Garm walked. Most of the villagers were talking about the upcoming offensive at Ostagar, either about how they didn't believe there were actually darkspawn in the south or talking about how it didn't bode well, the king going off to war without an heir. Others chattered of hunting and the crops, exchanging gossip that wouldn't have been out of place in the streets of Highever.

It filled Elissa with a longing feeling of homesickness, and she had to tune it out.

Before heading back to the stables, she ducked into a miniscule shack that turned out to be the tavern and treated herself to a meal. The proprietor looked at her askance when she asked for it, but after handing over an extra few coppers, procured a leg of lamb for Garm to chew on. Elissa dug into her own food with relish, her recent training and the subpar camping food catching up with her. Existing on jerky and other dry rations over the past days had been an experience, one she knew she would soon be repeating again. The tavern food itself was undercooked, but it was hot and filling and so she didn't complain.

Duncan was already waiting for them by the horses when she and Garm left the dingy tavern, and Elissa was momentarily worried that she had delayed him, but when he beckoned to her casually with one hand, she relaxed. He had something slung behind his back, she realized, and as she got closer he brought the object around. It was with some surprise that she made out the two-handed sword sheathed in an old back scabbard. She was even more surprised when he handed it to her.

Expecting the burdensome weight that had characterized the guardsman's claymore in Highever, she was startled to find that the bulk of this sword didn't outweigh the Cousland blade by more than a few pounds, for all that it was longer. She turned the sword over thoughtfully, unsheathing it partially; both edges were blunted, the way practice blades were kept dull, and she was sure if she extracted it completely from its case, the point of the blade would be dull as well. It was well-crafted, for a blade not meant to kill, and although it would be useless in a real battle, it was heavy enough that a well-placed hit could kill or cripple a man. The grip was about fifteen inches from cross-guard to pommel, the latter rounded and ending in a point that could dent armour with enough strength behind it. Replacing the weapon in its scabbard, she held it carefully alongside her; the sword's full length ran from breast-height to the ground.

"Why did you buy a practice sword?" she asked unthinkingly, studying the scabbard now. It was made of thick leather and designed to sling across one's back, but only for travelling. Trying to draw a sword – any type of weapon, really – from behind was impractical and often dangerous. Most weapons were held at the hip, or if they were larger, carried like pole-arms or by one's horse.

"So that you could practice," Duncan replied, with a hint of amusement in his tone. Elissa's eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand. "I spoke to Ser Trevelyan before I came to your family, and he seemed to think you were interested in learning two-handed fighting techniques. After seeing you in action, I agree with him."

"You do?" she asked, still having a hard time realizing what he was saying.

"Yes. Given your height, I think two-handed weapons would be best for you, and a sword suits your build better than a mace or a war-axe," he answered. "Once we reach Ostagar I'll introduce you to one of the senior Wardens, Vogel, who fights with a greatsword. From what I've seen of your abilities, you're a natural with a sword – it shouldn't take more than a few months for you to become adept at this with proper training."

For the first time since Highever, she felt her heart leap with excitement. A moment later, though, the sensation turned into unease. Her wish to leave Highever had come true in a backward way, and shown her just how unprepared she was. Her parents had been right about that, and so it stood to reason that they could have been right about the folly of this dream too. Still, if Duncan thought she could do it…

"Are you sure about this?" she asked quietly, considering the sword in her hand again. "What if we get to Ostagar and this Warden looks at me and says I have no business learning? Even Ser Trevelyan seemed to think it was a bit of a joke, even while he tried to convince Father."

"Before there was very little likelihood you would ever see battle," Duncan told her frankly. "I'm sure you realize that things are different now."

She nodded, her jaw clenching at the knowledge of just how different they were.

"While we travel, I'll do what I can to help you at least get used to the added length and weight," he went on. "I don't pretend to be an expert in the art – far from it, in fact. But I can correct the basics that I was told you are already familiar with, and help you put those into some practical use."

"That's…I would like that."

He eyed her sharply. "Before we start any of this, you must understand: you may never actually be able to wield a true greatsword. My former commander had not only the virtue of height, but her frame was naturally large – she could do it. You may have the height, but your frame is smaller than hers was. When you reach the limit to what you can safely lift and still be effective, you must accept that. Even those who constantly fight with a sixteen pound greatsword have to accept their body's natural limitations."

These were the same things that Aedan had once given her, but this time they coloured the words of someone who believed that she could actually pull off this endeavour. Even if she never was able to do it, the fact that she was being allowed to try made all the difference. And so, she nodded. "I understand."

"That being said, you're a tall woman – as tall as many men, and just as heavy as some, which means you have plenty of reach and speed. You have good coordination and reflexes already, thanks to your training."

"But?" she prompted.

"But most men, even ones that are shorter or lighter than you, are going to have stronger grips, and more muscle on their arms and shoulders. Speed matters, reach matters – as do skill and the attitude of the fighter, to some extent – but in any sort of close combat, raw strength plays a big role."

"I know," she told him. "When I first started training, Ser Trevelyan said that I needed a different fighting style because I'm a woman. He said that I didn't have to be stronger than any opponent, simply strong enough to redirect an attack."

"Exactly," Duncan nodded approvingly. "That is why we are going to adapt the basics to your needs. You must become comfortable with them before you can move on. Hopefully you'll be able to practice enough over the rest of our journey that when we reach Ostagar, Vogel will be able to show you the more complex techniques all the sooner."

"Can we start now?" she asked, unable to hide her eagerness.

"No," Duncan answered. "We need to capitalize on as much daylight as we can for travelling. You can practice when we set up camp for the night. Firelight isn't optimal, but it's the best we can do while we're on the road."

Elissa had to be contented with this, but she was so thrilled at the prospect of training with a two-hander that she didn't argue or complain. After Duncan did a perfunctory check of their supplies – "I hope you know how to use that thing, because I'm as good an archer as I am flutist," he told her upon seeing the bow – they set off again.

The rest of the day she felt as though she was waiting on pins and needles, glancing anxiously at the sun's path through the sky and wondering when Duncan would finally call a halt for the night.

When he did, she raced through helping to set up their camp, unsaddling the horses and feeding the animals with haste, and digging the latrine without complaint. Duncan built the campfire and set up a spit to roast some of the meat she had bought earlier. At the moment, food was the furthest thing from her mind, but she had discovered that Duncan had a ravenous appetite. He would not likely be in the mood to teach her until after dinner, and so she did what she could to make the cooking process go faster – which wasn't much. Despite growing up with a cook like Nan, Elissa's culinary skills were limited to boiling water. Most of the time she simply watched what Duncan did and hoped she would remember it in the future.

Only once they had eaten – Elissa fed most of her supper to Garm, her excitement over the prospective lesson making her stomach queasy – did Duncan motion for her to take up her sword. She hadn't worn it since Edgewater, instead strapping the scabbard to the horse; now she slid the blade from its sheath and brought it over to the flattest part of the clearing where they had set up camp.

That night he spent an hour correcting her grip and showing her the basic stances for fighting with the greatsword. Although she knew them from what she had studied in pamphlets and her own covert training, it was different having someone to correct her – especially someone who had actually known a woman that fought with a greatsword, as Duncan claimed to, and could tell by sight when she was doing something wrong. He made her take the stances repeatedly, moving from one to the other in quick succession. The repetitive teaching method was one she was familiar with thanks to Ser Trevelyan, but it annoyed her all the same. Elissa was anxious to learn more about offense, and she had to temper her impatience with the knowledge she would not become an instant expert.

Not even a quarter of the way through the session, Elissa felt as though she had been stretched upon a rack all day, and while she was eager to keep up the practice, she also knew that continuing for too long would result in her grip getting shaky.

Duncan appeared to be of like-mind, because he said, ""That's enough for today. After a certain point you lose more than you gain."

She carefully swiped a hand across her forehead, and puffed, "Who would have thought two pounds and a bit made such a difference?"

Duncan regarded her with a wan smile. "I would have thought someone who has trained with a longsword almost half of their life would know that a couple of pounds is nearly immeasurable weight when you're actually fighting."

"I don't remember my longsword ever feeling this heavy," Elissa replied, leaning the oversized blade against her side for a moment.

"I'm sure when you first started training with a sword that it was an effort," Duncan remarked. "It's all a matter of getting used to it."

That night she fell asleep repeating Duncans directions over and over in her head, and for the first time since Highever she slept without dreaming.

The next day she spent every brief rest stop practicing what she had learned the night before while Duncan and Garm watched, the former occasionally offering suggestions. That night as they camped off the main road, the horizon framed by the vast expanse of Lake Calenhad, Duncan recommended that she adapt her usual pattern dance training to the stances and footwork of the greatsword.

It took her several tries and adaptations before she established a workable rhythm with the new sword. It still felt awkward in her hands, but she sort of expected it now.

"Make sure you keep your movements slow and even," Duncan reminded her. "You'll remember them better and your body will be more likely to adopt them automatically over time."

She nodded at this, and took the low, open stance that was the first position of the training pattern. Although she hadn't even worked on offensive movements yet, the muscles in her arms and hands protested just from constantly holding the greatsword. Her knees slightly bent, she kept her feet shoulder-width apart and held the hilt of the sword firmly in both hands. Her right hand fit snugly beneath the cross-guard, while the left was almost cupped around the pommel; the tip of the blade pointed at an imaginary opponent.

Moving slowly and purposefully, she stepped left without taking the ball of her right foot from the ground and shifted the sword, angling it slightly downward and to the left in a low block. After a breath, she moved her right foot far forward and brought the sword back to the center, though this time her leading hand was at sternum-level instead of thigh level. She took another two laboriously slow steps with the same blocks and then slanted the sword into a hanging guard above her head as though receiving an attack from overhead. She was careful not to rely only on her shoulders to complete the passes, as this exercise was about her footwork and perfecting the stances, not the placement of her hands. Instead, she backed up her movements with support from her hips and torso.

She pivoted around, sweeping back into the low guard as she faced the opposite direction, and then repeated the entire pattern another three times, returning to her first stance before beginning a new sequence of advancing and retreating paces. She forced herself to concentrate on keeping the moves slow and purposeful, and her hands steady.

'Low guard, middle guard, high guard,' she chanted in her head as she carried out each block. She repeated the backward and forward walk three times as well, and then repeated the entire routine again from the beginning. This too she ended with several hanging guards, before coming to a rest in her neutral position.

Sweat trickled down her face, making the skin around the healing scar itch and sting, but she remained still until Duncan pronounced, "Good." She started to relax, but then he continued, "Do it again."

(-)

"Do you think we'll run into those apostates the Templars were looking for?"

Elissa could tell that she had startled Duncan, because they rarely talked while they rode. It was too much trouble to shout back and forth, and might alert highwaymen – which their journey had thankfully been free of since Willowsdale – or others to their position. Since Duncan started training with her, Elissa felt a little more given to conversation, but didn't feel right trying to make it while they were on the road. She therefore took whatever opportunities arose when they began to slow down for a rest. The sun was beginning its downward journey now, and it had been hours since they last stopped.

Duncan didn't reply right away, and seemed to be weighing his words before speaking.

"Ordinarily, I would say no," he remarked, slowing his horse down even more. Both animals were going at an easy walk now while Garm followed along behind them. When he realized the gait had slowed, he began to sniff around the area. "Templars are very good at what they do."

"You think this case is different, though," Elissa stated, reading between the lines.

"To tell you the truth, the encounter we had with those Templars doesn't sit well with me," he told her after a moment, his forehead furrowed thoughtfully. "Did you notice how they were acting?"

"Like complete morons?" she suggested. At his unimpressed look, she shrugged and added, "They were rather evasive. They didn't want to share much, which was obvious. Except Cedric. He seemed rather friendly, kind of like the Templars I met back in Highever."

Duncan nodded. "As a rule, Templars are a closed-mouthed group. Especially when they're hunting apostates. They share as little information as possible, ostensibly because they don't want to panic the everyday people. In reality I believe it has more to do with pride. They have a hard time admitting that any part of the Chantry can be fallible."

"That one – Erramun – he admitted they had made a mistake, though."

"Which was odd," Duncan told her. "In fact, the whole exchange was very different from what I've experienced when dealing with Templars. Erramun and his group let slip a lot more than I think they meant to."

"What conversation were you listening to?" Elissa asked. "They didn't tell us anything important."

"Sometimes what someone _doesn__'__t_ say can give you more information than idle banter," Duncan explained.

"I know that," Elissa said. "Ser Trevelyan always used to talk about how you can tell a warrior's experience before even fighting him, just by his stance and the way he holds his weapon. And I think…Mother might have been trying to teach me something to that effect."

She winced, remembering the argument they had had in Denerim, which she had never had a chance to apologize for. And never would, now.

"The same is true in other areas as well," Duncan was telling her. "Obviously, body language is important, but if you know a person's background, it helps you understand if they are keeping information from you and why." He waited for her to process this, and then continued. "Templars pride themselves on keeping their affairs separate from the lay people. They rarely volunteer information unless there is no other course. Even then, it is only if they are sure of the outcome. Erramun and his squad told us far more than they intended last night, which makes me think there might be something important going on."

"So then you _do_ think there is a chance of running into these apostates," Elissa concluded, unable to hide her unease. When he didn't reply, she glanced over and saw that he was watching her knowingly. "What?"

"You're not frightened of magic, are you?"

"Frightened isn't the word I would use," she replied evasively. "Wary might be better." At his unrelenting expectant expression, she continued, "The last mage I ran into tried to fry me to a crisp. I sincerely doubt I'll be emanating feelings of love and affection for their kind any time soon."

She was relieved that he didn't decide to make fun of her. Not that it was in his nature, she didn't think, but she appreciated it all the same. He simply considered her gravely, "At some point, you will need to confront this _wariness_ you have of mages. What the Templars implied was true, in one sense."

"What do you mean?"

"The Grey Wardens do sometimes recruit apostates," he explained. "Not as many as they believe – usually there is only one mage recruited for every Senior Warden in a city. It differs in every country – for example, Ferelden is very low on Wardens at the moment, and so we can't afford to be picky about mages and non-mages. A basic rule of thumb is that talent is not to be wasted." At her frown, he continued, "Why condemn a useful man to quick death just to satisfy someone else's foibles and entertain the masses, when he can fulfill some greater purpose for the Wardens?"

"But what if he did something terrible?" Elissa asked. "What if it was someone like Arl Howe?"

Duncan's expression darkened. "I didn't say it would be an easy decision. On a personal level, I would never recruit that man. I know him to be a traitor, and there are certain parts of his character which…I doubt would allow him to succeed as a Warden. However, as Warden-Commander, I would have to factor in whether I thought he could be of any use to the Order and whether his talents could help fight against the Blight. Based on his military background and the stories that are told of his actions at the battle of White River, I would have to consider him a candidate if that were the case."

"But he's a murderer! And a thief!" Elissa protested.

"So am I," Duncan told her earnestly. "Maybe not in the same way, but those words do apply to me."

She was taken aback by this. Somehow it wasn't the same thing, but she wasn't sure how to argue that point. Instead, she tried a different approach. "How could you know he wouldn't stab you in the back as soon as he was named a Warden?"

"Whoever a person is before they join the Grey is of no consequence. You must leave old loyalties and crimes behind when you become one of us," Duncan told her gravely. "Not every Warden wants to be recruited, as I'm sure you know. There are men among the ranks who the Chantry considers apostate, and there are former criminals who certainly did rape, pillage and murder – not many, as there is a certain quality of person that the Wardens seek, but they still exist." She continued to watch him uncomprehendingly and he sighed. "The point is that once you become a Warden, none of that matters any longer."

"It sounds like death," she told him earnestly.

He seemed unsure of what to say to that, and finally managed, "It is, in a way. There's a saying among the Senior Wardens, that the Wardens are a calling, not a cure. It's meant to discourage those who think they can escape their troubles by joining the Grey. Still…some of those do end up making respectable Wardens."

Elissa reflected on this. The way Duncan explained it made some sense, but she couldn't get past the idea of someone like Arl Howe being permitted to join the Grey Wardens, whatever the circumstances. If his ilk were ever considered, how was it possible that the Wardens had achieved such idyllic status in the old epics?

"What if someone joins the Wardens to escape a punishment and then runs away?" she probed thoughtfully, trying to wrap her head around this new information. It certainly challenged what she had believed about these heroes of legend.

Duncan's eyes hardened. "Once a Warden, always a Warden. It is impossible to ever truly leave the order."

"Why?"

"You will find out once we reach Ostagar. We will…need time explain everything to you, and I would rather do so with the other recruits," he answered. "The point I'm trying to make is that you should open your mind a little. You may just find a mage guarding your back one day."

'And on that day I hope I develop eyes in the back of my head,' Elissa thought. Out loud, she said, "When we were in Edgewater, you said there were others besides me? That you had recruited, I mean."

"Yes," he answered. "There were two promising young men that I found over the last few months. I sent them ahead of us to help the other Wardens prepare for battle, but they will not be inducted into the Order until you arrive."

"Are they…er…apostates?"

He sent her a wry look. "And if they were?"

She exhaled loudly. "Well, I would have to deal with it, wouldn't I? But it doesn't hurt to prepare for it."

"You'll soon learn that all the preparation in the world usually leads to naught," he told her. "There's an old saying among soldiers: 'The Maker laughs – "

"' – at those who make plans'," she finished. "Trevelyan used to say the same thing."

"He was right."

"So these other recruits – are they nobles too, or did you find them in your travels?"

Duncan didn't answer her, and she was about to repeat the question, but stopped herself. He was no longer paying attention to her; instead, he brought his horse to a complete stop, and she noticed that he had suddenly become tense. She recognized the change in posture and immediately reigned in her one mount.

"Do you smell that?" he asked without looking at her, instead scanning the area before them which was littered with trees and craggy hills. Although the thick forests had been left behind, the landscape they travelled along was not flat and boasted many hidden nooks.

Elissa paused, inhaling through her nose and made a face.

"Smoke," she said, "And…something else."

The wind was blowing an odour from the west, and it smelled rankly of ash – not the hot stink of a new fire, more the remnants of one from several days before. Blended with that was the faint but definite smell of spoiled meat.

Now she too tensed. "Bandits?"

She hoped they weren't about to walk into a repeat of Willowsdale…

Duncan shook his head, slowly. "If it was, they're probably long gone. Most don't hang around once they've been raiding. Still, keep a sharp eye and your sword at the ready. There could be stragglers." He dismounted. "I'll scout ahead first."

Elissa touched the longsword at her waist – it was too early in her training to even consider the greatsword – and looked over at Garm. "Go with Duncan."

The mabari wagged his miniscule tail in response and slipped after the Warden, making very little noise despite his bulk. Elissa remained in her saddle, not wanting to dismount until Duncan told her so. She kept her ears sharp for any indication that he was in trouble, ready to ride out at a moment's notice.

It was as she waited that she felt the uncomfortable sensation that she was being watched. She casually scanned the surrounding area, fingering the hilt of her sword more closely. It was entirely possible that she and Duncan could have been followed by a gang of brigands who intended to ambush them from behind.

She whirled around when she heard the rustling of bushes, but it was only a field mouse scurrying across the thin grass.

Elissa snorted at herself. "A ranger, I am not – can't even distinguish between human sounds and an animal's, honestly – "

"The hamlet's deserted."

She nearly fell off her horse in surprise as Duncan returned, Garm in tow; the mabari continued to be tense, though, his hackles raised.

"Is it?" Elissa managed, her voice slightly strangled. He didn't seem to have realized he had surprised her, and she noticed that there was a grim set to his face. She sobered up immediately and asked, "What's happened?"

"I don't rightly know – although I am sure that whoever did this is long gone. I'd say it's been four or five days."

"Did what?" Elissa asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'll show you," he said and motioned for her to follow through the small outcropping of trees. Elissa got off of her horse and led it along by the reins.

At first, she had the impression that she was walking into a perfectly normal grouping of farmsteads. The little hamlet was bigger than Willowsdale had been, but poorer, as evidenced by the wattle-and-daub walls of the houses and the chimney-less roofs. The farmsteads hadn't been burned at all – they were all intact as far as Elissa could see. In fact, the only thing that put her on edge was the utter silence that encompassed the entire area. Even if the peasants that lived here were out tending the last of the harvest, there would have been some people left behind to watch the town and see to the domestic affairs. Carrion birds hopped about fenced off enclosures that had once held animals – she surmised that most had been stolen or fled – shreds of something on their beaks as they moved upright to consider the intruders. As Duncan and Elissa neared, the birds exploded skyward in a storm of black wings.

What he intended her to see was in the middle of the cluster of hovels. Along with the silence, the smouldering smell became stronger as she followed Duncan through the empty hamlet. It turned out the odour emanated from the central area, from the charred ruins of some kind of pyre. It was bigger than any kind of pyre she had ever seen at funerals, and as she neared it she realized that it was so that it could accommodate more than one body. She had heard of mass cremations before, but only in the case of disease.

Sharp fear drove into her and she raised her hand to her mouth, but Duncan shook his head as he followed her thought process. "It's too cold and far too remote to be plague. If disease killed these people, which I doubt, it was not something that would linger even after the bodies were burned."

Elissa forced herself to look back at the pyre. Immediately, she could see that it had been hastily constructed, as though the builder was in a hurry, because the remains still resembled skeletons instead of the fine ash that would have remained if the pyre had been tended to as the corpses burned. A number of skulls of varying sizes grinned macabrely up at the sky, male and female alike.

"I make at least twelve adults and quite a few children," Duncan said after a long moment of studying the bones. "About six families."

Elissa nodded thoughtfully, vaguely comparing that estimate with the amount of homesteads around them. "If it wasn't disease, what did this?"

"Look at these," he said, gesturing to the three closest and most intact carcasses. It took her a moment to realize what he was pointing at. Their vertebrae near the top of the spine were cut, completely severing the neck of the corpse; from the neatness of the cut, Elissa was sure that a sharp blade had been used.

"They've all been decapitated," she realized. She considered all of the other skeletons and saw that despite the various states of deterioration thanks to fire and decay, it was true for all of them. Even the children.

"Exactly," Duncan replied. "I've never heard of a disease that requires decapitation, have you?"

"Only in old ghost stories," Elissa answered, and then considered Duncan sharply. "Darkspawn wouldn't do this, would they?"

He shook his head. "There aren't any darkspawn this far north just yet that I'm aware of. Besides, this isn't the site of a darkspawn attack."

"How can you tell?"

"Once you see your first you'll know," he told her cryptically, and she could tell from his tone that it would be a bad idea to push the matter. Instead, she tried to see the hamlet with new eyes, keeping in mind the mass grave as she did.

Now she could make out the fans of old blood that sprayed across the ground in some places, while in others it trailed in long tracks that she supposed showed where a body had been dragged. "If it wasn't disease or darkspawn…who did this?"

"I'm not sure," Duncan replied. "Bandits won't hesitate to kill when they're on raids – as you've seen – but they often leave much more destruction in their wake. They leave their victims to rot, they don't cremate them. Not unless they choose to take over a place, but even that's unlikely. And they definitely don't position them according to Andrastian burial practices."

Elissa looked back at the pyre abruptly and realized that Duncan was right. Although at first it was hard to tell because of the amount of bones on the pyre, it appeared that every skeleton had been positioned with their arms purposefully folded across their chests and hands clasped, the way the Chantry ordained that the deceased were meant to go to the Maker.

"So let me get this straight," Elissa uttered, feeling anger colour her words, "Someone – or many someones – massacred the people here, and then went through the trouble of seeing that they were buried in the proper way? Why?"

"I don't know," Duncan replied quietly. Although he didn't appear as incensed as Elissa was, she detected a tight note in his voice. He looked skyward, an unreadable expression on his face and they stood in silence for a long moment. Finally, he said heavily, "We don't have the time to investigate it further."

"So we're just…going to leave them like this?" Elissa inquired, her eyes flicking down to the skull of a child. Although she knew what manner of man had no qualms about killing a child, it still sickened her to see.

"There isn't anything else we can do for them. Dead is dead."

"But…it just…doesn't seem right," she managed to say. "Shouldn't someone be told about this?"

He appeared to reflect on this, regarding her with a look of measured incredulity, and then finally nodded. "At the nearest village we can tell the Chantry about what has transpired here. Most likely the people that live here will have neighbours and perhaps kinfolk that can see to them. But that's all we can do."

"Still, it's something," she told him earnestly.

Duncan didn't reply to that.

As they left, the peculiar sensation of being watched returned to Elissa, but try as she might, she couldn't discover its source.

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

So, my dedicated beta Cobar713 and I labored over this chapter this weekend so that you guys would have something to read this week while I'm struggling through four annoyingly useless assignments I have due Friday (ah, education program, how you make me angry enough to spit…). Apologies that it's a little short, but I'm a bit pressed for time. Hopefully, once said evil assignments are done I can have a nice long chapter up next week (or sooner, if I procrastinate the way I usually do).

Now, I'm not one to beg for reviews, but I would really love to have some kind of feedback on this story. A lot of research and time (and love!) goes into its writing, and I have yet to hear from more than one or two people what you think – and I know more than one or two people read it, so that's a little bit of a let-down. Even if there's something you don't like about the fic, whether it's plot or description or character, feel free to let me know. I do listen to comments, and if yours is something that might add to the story, I want to hear it. If it's not, I'll tell you so very respectfully. I'm a big girl, I can take constructive criticism. If I couldn't, I wouldn't have such a strict beta!

Anyhow, that's my piece at the moment. Back to school work for now,

Love,

ErtheChilde


	8. Chapter Eight

**_Battle Maiden_**  
><strong><em>by ErtheChilde<em>**

* * *

><p><strong><em>"My father once told me that adventure is just someone else knee-deep in shite far from home. Maker, but I wish I had listened to him."<em>**

* * *

><p><em>Note: The name Lostwithiel is from the RPG Warden's Vigil. I claim no ownership whatsoever over it and can only thank the people over there for making up names for places in Ferelden that I could use in my story. I have also been using their chart for distances and days travelled to keep the time believable. Danke schon!<em>

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Eight:<em>

"I may be new at this, but something tells me that this kind of thing isn't supposed to happen as often as it seems to be," Elissa remarked in a voice that would have been casual if she had been able to hide her discomfort. Garm barked in agreement.

Duncan didn't answer.

For the second time in two days, they found themselves travelling through an area that had seen violent death. This time it wasn't a community of innocent villagers, Elissa was relieved to see, but that relief was only incremental. The depravity of the situation was just as bad. They had brought their horses to a rest at the edge of the glade that had once been an outlaw camp of some kind. Crude wooden barricades lined the paths into the encampment. The area had been roughly cleared, probably by hand, and was littered with the remnants of several campfires. Filthy, makeshift tents were scattered amid rock and bush, most of them ruined by a combination of neglect and undue interest from the local wildlife. There was plenty of refuse around the area, suggesting that the inhabitants had camped here for a while before they were interrupted by…whoever had done this.

The pyre here had been constructed with the same deliberate neatness as the one in the massacred village, meant to efficiently dispose of as many bodies as possible. Elissa's nose wrinkled from the smell. While it had been some days since the pyre had burned down to the cindery mixture of ash and bone fragments, there was still that lingering odour of burnt flesh in the air. She had to look away, and her gaze fell on several full crates and sacks lying nearby, untouched.

"Their supplies are still here," she commented. "Just like the last one. Theft wasn't a motive."

"These men were killed in the same way as the villagers," Duncan remarked, and she glanced back at him as he finished his perusal of the charred remains. He prodded the blackened vertebra of a skeleton. "All of them decapitated and, as far as I can tell, positioned according to the Andrastian way."

There was a calculating look on his face as he now surveyed the rest of the site. Like the first of such grim scenes they had come across, this one was the resting place of animals as well as humans. The sprawled corpses of several mangy dogs lay around the camp, in various states of decay. There was one not far from Elissa, its head hanging by a tatter of flesh, its teeth still fixed in a snarl. A few paces beyond it, another lay curled around a belly-wound that might have taken half a day to kill him. The bodies hadn't bloated too much in the cool weather, but the carrion birds had been at them already.

Elissa raised her hand and made a circular gesture to Garm. The mabari rumbled something like assent and began to loop around the camp, body tense and ears cocked to catch any hint of threatening sound.

In the meantime, Duncan had stepped away from the makeshift funerary tier. "It's curious."

"What is?" Elissa asked.

"These attacks are not simply someone trying to utterly destroy small communities or small bands as they come across them. If that were the case, the village buildings would have been burned down as well and this place would have been reduced to rubble," he contemplated aloud. "It appears it is only the inhabitants that are being targeted, for whatever reason."

"Only the inhabitants?" Elissa responded, considering the canine corpses.

Duncan followed her gaze, and then continued pensively, "Back in that village, I did not get a sense that the livestock and other creatures were actually slaughtered by our mysterious killer – or killers. It seemed like whoever killed the villagers simply left the beasts to their own devices. Over time, with no one to protect them or feed them, they would have found a way out of their corrals – or perhaps the wild creatures got to them first. Either way, they were left alone." He swept his hand over the ruined camp. "Here, I believe the dogs probably tried to protect their masters."

Elissa shrugged. "What's your point?"

"I've been in this land long enough to know how Fereldans treat their hounds, and it rarely differs from one end of the country to the other," he explained. "Even on the outskirts, it's common practice to accord dogs that fall in conflict the same honour as one would the dead."

Elissa blinked, suddenly realizing Duncan's point. "That's true – I can't believe I didn't think of that. In Highever, there's a plot of land where even the poor can bring the remains of their hounds in order to honour them."

"I've heard of other places that do the same. That being said," Duncan nodded indicatively at the rotting corpses the littered the camp, "even the least scrupulous Fereldan would have burned the dog carcasses with those of the men they killed, if they were as concerned with propriety as they appear to be."

He nodded at the pyre indicatively, and Elissa caught on to his meaning. 'So what person cares for the souls of men in such a way, but doesn't bother with animals?' She considered for a moment, and then commented, "Well, I doubt a rival group of bandits or a mercenary band would have concerned themselves with properly disposing of dog carcasses."

"Bandits and mercenaries wouldn't go through the trouble of seeing to the dead at all," Duncan reminded her. "Not unless they meant to stay in the area, which they clearly didn't."

She screwed up her face in concentration, trying to reconcile the ideas competing for dominance in her mind. "Not disease, you said, but not bandits either…" She looked back at the crates. "You said everything of value was still here?"

"As far as we know," he reminded her. "It's possible whoever did this was looking for something. Whether they found it or not..."

"Something? Something that perhaps the villagers might have had, but maybe was stolen by the bandits?" Elissa suggested. Duncan nodded, still studying the pyre thoughtfully. Elissa grimaced. "What's valuable enough to kill entire communities over? And then give them their last rights?"

Duncan didn't appear to hear her question, and she realized that he was just as troubled over the new development as she was. The mystery frustrated her, partly because of the gravity of it, and partly because she just didn't like not knowing things.

She repeated the conundrum to herself. 'What kind of person commits murder one moment, and then cares for their victims' earthly remains? It's almost like they're asking forgiveness. Or pretending to.' She frowned. 'Well, Aedan always used to say it's easier to ask forgiveness than permission. There are those who think that rule applies to murder – it doesn't count if you ask forgiveness for it or make a show of doing penance. Of course, he was talking about Orlesians, not…whoever did this.'

She examined the scene again, and then snorted without humour. Now that she had thought of that, it looked like the lead-up to a particularly bad joke about Orlesians. "If I were the overtly suspicious and ignorant type, and if…if Father hadn't been such a crucial part of bringing peace with them, I'd be willing to consider Orlesians as our suspects. Sneaky bastards, and not big on dogs."

Duncan regarded her with exasperation. "You cannot be serious."

"I said if I were overtly suspicious and ignorant," she answered defensively. Belatedly, she remembered that Duncan had grown up in Orlais, and that she didn't know exactly what his feelings were for the empire in the west. "It could have been the motive of these people – although Maker knows why. It's not exactly the best time in the world to try to pin trouble on the Orlesians."

"If you're going to come up with theories, could you at least keep them within the realm of possibility?"

"I'm just ruling out what it's not," she protested. By his expression, he was still unimpressed. She busied herself with studying the pyre, trying to avoid his gaze. "There's what, about thirty in there?"

"Give or take," he replied, his voice still tinged with irritation. "It's impossible to sift through all of that ash, but I would imagine there are a few women in there as well. Camp followers, as like as not."

"Still. That's an awful lot of armed men to take out."

"Unless whoever did this was equally well-armed," Duncan contemplated. "Well trained, too, if they could take out so many and leave the camp mostly intact. Whatever destruction happened here occurred after whoever did this left."

"In that case, it's unlikely that it was just one person," Elissa chimed in, trying to redeem herself. "I'd say there are a few. Five or six men can take out thirty if they're well provisioned, well-armed and well-trained. More than that number, and it would be a rival band, wouldn't it? Or even a small army – " she looked up in alarm. "You don't think it was that, do you? Soldiers…or a group of deserters?"

"Such a group of armed men would be more noticeable and easier to track. Whoever did this has been careful about leaving clues to their whereabouts," Duncan shook his head. "A larger group would also be less likely to leave these areas intact. Besides, whoever did this is heading further south, if we're to judge by the age of the remains. The hamlet was hit first, and then this place – although whether the attack on this camp was by design or chance, I do not know."

Elissa's eyes widened in alarm. "Then there could be other people in danger!" She started to move toward the horses. "We should –"

"Continue on our journey," Duncan interrupted, and the tone made her pause before she got within a few steps of the horses. He was watching her knowingly. "If our path continues to lead us after whoever did this, we will react accordingly. But we do not have the luxury of investigating it in great depth. Don't lose sight of our goal."

Elissa slowly relaxed, and with much effort pushed her preoccupation with the current mystery back down. Duncan was right. Their priority was still to reach the front, both for his reasons and for hers. She contemplated the scene once again as Duncan began to move around the camp. It was true that these men were bandits and had probably done much worse to warrant their deaths this way – but the deaths of the people in the hamlet still bothered her. And if this odd phenomenon was continuing in other places, how many more innocent people were going to end up charred on a communal pyre?

"We'll still tell people what's happening, right?" she asked the Warden. "So that the proper authorities are informed?"

"I said we would, did I not?" he replied, and it took her a moment to realize he was fastening some of the smaller sacks of the camp's goods to his packsaddle.

"You're stealing from the dead?" she cried in surprise.

"It's not stealing. These men have no need of these things any longer," Duncan told her simply. "Besides, as we've reasoned, it's unlikely that any of this belonged to them before their untimely demise."

"Still it's…" her voice trailed off as she struggled to find the right work.

"Wrong?" he offered.

"Morbid," she finally finished, shivering.

"Supplies are supplies. It means we won't have to spend coin we don't have. And it's best you get over that primness. Often times you'll find yourself in situations where taking from the deceased is the difference between survival and drawn-out death."

"I suppose," she managed hesitantly.

Garm yelped all of a sudden, and then growled, the sounds a mix of surprise and wariness. He was crouched over a collection of the thick bushes that grew all around this area in place of the trees that filled the north.

"What is it, boy?" she asked, exchanging glances with Duncan. He reached for one of his daggers, but otherwise remained where he stood. An incremental nod encouraged her to investigate, and she slowly wandered over to Garm, entirely conscious of her own sword at her hip. She came to rest beside him, placing a hand on his head as she did, and pulled back the branches of the bushes in order to discern what he was seeing.

The sudden steepness of the ditch that opened before her feet was surprising, and she moved automatically backward.

"It doesn't look like there's anything but a hidden drop," she said to Duncan over her shoulder. Garm whined at her meaningfully. To him, she murmured, "What do you see?"

He yipped, pointing his nose downward, and she studied that direction intently. The descent into the gully was at least thirty feet. She could now see that it might be possible to climb down slowly, but if she hadn't stopped before the bush, it would have been an unpleasant journey to the bottom of the incline. The base of the chasm was full of fallen timber and thick brush, and several feet away she could make out a small stream, but otherwise the area appeared empty.

"Garm, I don't know what you're –" She saw a flash of movement from within the brush, and there was a light thump from below, and then the indignant cawing of a crow, which fled from the bushes. Elissa caught sight of a hand waving feebly from beneath it. She leaped backward, and hissed at Duncan, "There's someone down there!"

He was by her side instantly, and they both peered back down.

The hand within the bush was still waving at them, slow jerky movements that suggested a lot of effort was being expounded in the process.

"I think they're hurt," Elissa said, but she waited until Duncan gave the word.

He looked sharply around, trying to see if there was anyone lying in wait to set up an ambush. It would be a hard thing, Elissa reflected, as the only cover within the gully was the brush. Now that she was looking down, she could see the subtle differences in colour that told her the man lying there was the only one. She now realized that the reason he had been so hard to see was because the aged leather armour he wore as well as his exposed skin had been purposefully streaked with a combination of mud, charcoal and leaves.

She was aware of Duncan leaving her side and glanced over in time to see him rummaging once again through the outlaw's camp, returning a few moments later with a long coil of woven rope. He fastened it around one of the bulky outcroppings of rock, tested its weight and then tossed the loose end over the drop.

"I'll go first to make sure there are no surprises down there."

She didn't argue, knowing that if something out of the ordinary did happen, he would be better equipped to handle an ambush then she was. His armour was better, and from what little she remembered of that day in Willowsdale, he was talented with knives. Still, before he started his descent, she stopped him. "Wait."

She hurried over to the horses, taking up the bow and arrows from her packsaddle and arming herself quickly.

"Just in case," she told Duncan as she returned. If there was anything suspicious afoot, at least she would be able to cover him from above.

He nodded in acknowledgement, and then began his descent. Elissa noted with appreciation that it was executed rather smoothly, considering the bulk of his armour and his general stature. It was something she still had a hard time processing, that such agility and finesse could come from such an imposing specimen of a man. She had met knights that were almost the same build as the Warden, yet despite their prowess with a blade they were slow and often clumsy, encumbered by their armour and natural ungainliness. Not so with Duncan.

Watching him climb down, it occurred to her that not only was this not his first time rappelling down an almost sheer drop, but if not for the implied intent for her to follow after him, he probably could have gotten down the ravine without the cord.

She heard the distant, muffled thump of his boots against the craggy ground and saw him look around. He made a preliminary inspection, and then motioned for her to follow as he headed toward the wounded man.

Elissa ordered Garm to stand guard on the embankment, and then swung the bow and quiver onto her back; after a final test of the rope's hold, she carefully began to lower herself backward. In comparison to Duncan's practiced ease, Elissa's descent was rather slow and awkward, but she managed it well enough. As she walked herself backward, she saw slick mud and fallen dirt where the treacherous edge had crumbled; it was probably what had brought the victim in the brush down.

Once she touched down at the base of the incline, she became aware of the unpleasant odour that emanated from the area where Duncan was crouched. Human waste and another sickly scent she couldn't identify. Warily, she approached the Warden, noticing that there was an odd collection of stones and stones scattered around the area that hadn't come from the ledge above.

Dismissing this, she craned her neck to examine the man who had drawn their attention. His right hand, which he had been waving at them, had long since lowered from fatigue, and Elissa felt a sinking feeling as she neared him. His skin was grey and cracking, his lips swollen from dehydration.

From what she could guess, he had either stumbled or been pushed into the ravine, and obviously gone down in the most unlucky manner possible. He'd rolled into the bushes and landed awkwardly, his right leg catching between two thick, springy branches that had closed tightly around the upper part of his thigh, effectively immobilizing his lower half. His body was twisted around, and she noted with a sympathetic wince that his other arm was dislocated at the shoulder, which would have kept him from wrestling his leg from the arboreal vice.

Now that she stood over him she saw with some trepidation that a rather large branch seemed to have lodged itself through the calf of his injured leg. It was from this that the putrid, sickly smell of decay was emanating. Elissa realized from the colour and texture of the skin around it that not even an amputation of the limb would save the man. Likely, the rot had reached his bloodstream by now.

'It's a wonder he hasn't died already,' she thought grimly.

Duncan studied the situation, his mouth pursed, and with a carefully calculated amount of strength, he pulled apart the springy branches that trapped the man; the latter's hips and legs shifted a bit as the tension released.

"Andraste, bless you," he rasped, his voice rusty from disuse. Elissa hesitated a moment, and the reached into her pack, pulling out her water-skin, which she pressed to his cracked lips. She knew it was ultimately useless, but it was as little comfort as she could manage, even if he was a bandit. The old tales spoke often of the agony felt by someone dying of thirst, and her sense of decency demanded the gesture of her.

The man gulped at it eagerly, and then choked painfully, spewing water and blood from his ruined mouth over her. She forced herself not to wince while he recovered himself. Then, he tried to take another, slower sip. This one went down easier.

After letting him drink several more tentative sips, Duncan made a slight movement of his head. Elissa acknowledged this with a nod and brought the skin away from the dying man's lips.

"What happened to you?" the Warden asked without preamble.

The man squinted up, as though he was trying to better see their faces, and it was only after Duncan repeated the question slower and louder, that he tried to answer.

"We was headin' north – my gang an' me…s'warmer up there, yeah?" the man whispered feverishly. "We was jest beddin' down for the night, when…" he swallowed with what looked like painful difficulty.

"When what?"

"When they comes."

"Who?"

The man opened his mouth, but no sound emerged and he simply shook his head. Elissa saw an all-encompassing fear in his eyes.

Duncan changed the direction of the questioning. "How did you get down here?"

The man's jaw worked, like he was trying to summon the right words. He breathed laboriously, and then continued, "Someone knocked me back – couldn' get my feet, next I know I'm all twisted up in these blighted shrubs. I didn' make a sound but…but I could hear…" He shuddered. "I heard 'em fighting, and my lass was screamin' til all of a sudden…there were no sound – and then, worse than all that was the quiet…saw the smoke – then I smelled…" He trailed off, drawing a shuddering breath. "They left afore dawn – looked down over the ledge, but couldn' see me, and I kept right still til they was gone. Don't know if they jest didn' see me or if they jest didn' care."

Elissa ruminated on this; something made her doubt that it was the latter. She asked quietly, "Do you remember how long ago this happened?"

The man made a face, and for a moment she thought the question was too difficult for him, but he managed, "Sun's been around five times now, I think."

"Five days?" she gaped. "How did you survive five days like this?"

"Spite alone," the man tried to chuckle, but the gesture seemed to rend his throat and then he was coughing and gasping for breath. He recovered himself, peering up at Elissa through bleary eyes. "Been chuckin' stones…at the beasts…they've been waitin' for me to come ripe, yeah? No more stones, though…was sure today'd be the day I makes 'em a meal.'

Duncan tried again. "Who did this?"

The man shied away.

"We can't bring them to justice unless we know who they are and which way they're headed," Elissa added. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Duncan's frown at her choice of words, but then he nodded in acquiescence.

The dying bandit visibly struggled with something, but perhaps Elissa's earnest desire to get to the bottom of the problem shone through. A dogged look entered the man's eyes, and she could see that he was willing himself to talk.

"They said…said they wouldn' harm us, if we was helpful."

"Who said?" Elissa coaxed, trying to keep her voice gentle. He opened his mouth to speak, but the word was whispered so lowly that she couldn't hear. "Who?" She bent lower, ignoring the stench as she brought her ear closer to his mouth.

It still took supreme effort to hear the word he rasped out. "Templars."

Elissa jerked backward, staring at the man in shock.

"Templars?" she looked up sharply at Duncan, who to her amazement didn't look as surprised as she felt. A flurry of thoughts and protestations marched to a forefront in her mind, but she forced them back when Duncan spoke, his attention clearly on the bandit.

"I have never heard of Templars massacring people, not unless they come upon a group of particularly belligerent apostates," Duncan said carefully. "Were any of your number runaway mages or hiding them?"

The man shook his head, slowly, and with much effort. "Mages is trouble, and we told 'em so. Don't want any trouble of that like in our camp…but their leader…he didn' believe us." He winced in pain, although whether this was from his condition or the remembering, Elissa wasn't sure. "Eyes like stone and fire, him. Said we hid 'em. Said we'd be sent to the Void if we didn' say where they'd gone. Bruiser Dane – blighted gormless bastard, he was, but not a-scared of nothin' – he tells 'em the Void's only for them's that believe an' he warn't gonna tell anyone that ambushed our camp nothin'. Stupid blighter – we ne'er had nothin' to hide, but he says that, an'…" The man shuddered again. ''S'when it all went south. Next I know, I'm down here."

"This doesn't make sense," Elissa murmured. "Why on earth would Templars…?" She saw Duncan's expression, and went silent. Now was obviously not the time to try to puzzle out this mystery.

The Warden looked down at the dying man, a measure of compassion in his eyes. "You are sped beyond healing. That infection is far too advanced, even if there were a mage healer close by."

The man nodded, resigned. "Thought so."

"If you wish it, I can ease your passing," Duncan said, unsheathing one of his daggers.

"Please," the man requested. Before Duncan could move, though, the man's hand suddenly shot out, and spindly fingers wrapped around Elissa's wrist. She could feel the bones even through the leather of her armour. "You'll do it, yeah?" Pleading tinged the pain-filled dark eyes of the man. "Sure an' if the end comes from a pretty one like you…might be able to…face the Void…"

Elissa felt frozen by the man's request, momentarily unable to contemplate it. Yes, she had killed men before, but none of them had asked her for it, and in all of those cases she had been so driven by the heat of the moment of battle that she hadn't much dwelled on the act.

Her eyes moved sharply to Duncan, and it was on her tongue to deny the man's request, but the Warden was already passing her his dagger, hilt first, his expression neutral. She hesitated, feeling a slight nausea pass over her, but forced herself to take the blade into her hands. It surprised her that they weren't shaking.

Swallowing her own discomfort, she murmured to no one in particular, "All right."

"Here," the man gasped, tilting his chin and exposing his throat. "Make it clean…yeah?"

Mechanically, Elissa put the point of the dagger to the offered spot just below the ear, holding it steady in her left hand. The man's eyes closed and he exhaled, long and almost gratefully. With his eyes no longer watching her so hopefully, she found it easier to act. Her right hand came back, and she slammed the heel of it down onto the hilt. The man gave one convulsive jerk and lay still.

Duncan rose, but it took Elissa several moments longer to force herself to her feet, unable to look away from the new corpse. For the first time she had actually felt the life leaving someone's body, and she suddenly remembered that last glimpse she had had of her father, giving that same shudder as he lay in her mother's lap.

Her vision blurred, and she angrily brushed the tears away. She had thought she had gotten over the worst of the weeping spells, and now here she was crying just because she'd put a dying man out of his misery. 'Disgraceful.'

There was a gentle, firm touch on her shoulder, which she shrugged off. That was all she needed, to have to be comforted like some useless court lady that fainted at the sight of blood! Warriors didn't cry over the people they killed. She raised her chin, meeting Duncan's gaze levelly. "I'm fine."

He nodded, as though he had expected this, and gestured to the dead man. "It happens sometimes. Usually, though, it's someone who has come in contact with the Taint. It is the greatest mercy we can give them. As it was in this case. He would not have lived much longer."

"I know," she said stiffly. "You don't need to explain. I understand why it was important that I do it – so I get used to the idea that I might have to do it again."

He shook his head. "That was only part of the reason. He asked you to do it." His expression hardened. "A Warden is often expected to make difficult choices and do terrible things in the name of our cause. These little gestures of mercy are sometimes the best we can manage to balance that. Even for a criminal."

She didn't know what to say to that, and so busied herself with wiping the blade and handing it back to him. He took it, but continued to watch her, as though expecting her to say something; she pretended not to notice. It was in rare moments such as these that Duncan gave her some idea of what to expect from the life of a Grey Warden, and in these she started to doubt whether or not it was as great an honor as had always been made out.

'Still, too late to back out now,' she thought. 'There's too much riding on getting to Ostagar. And more importantly, I gave my word. If I don't have that, I really don't have anything.'

Back on the raised clearing of the brigand's camp, while Duncan finished appropriating a few more useful tools and supplies, Elissa replaced the bow and arrows that she hadn't needed. She glanced back at the bandits' pyre, grimacing at it.

It just didn't make sense.

"Templars don't massacre people," she said out loud, more stubbornly than she intended it.

"Not without reason," Duncan told her as he brought the last of the pilfered supplies to the horses.

"The bandits I can understand, a little," Elissa replied. "It was more likely his band attacked the Templars than the other way around – but what could possibly make a group of Templars massacre a village? It just doesn't make sense. He must have been lying – or mistaken."

"I don't think he was." At Elissa's incredulous expression, he added, "First consider the placement of the corpses – only those truly devoted to the Chantry would bother. And what of the carelessness over the bodies of the beasts? Chantry lore puts the souls of humanity above all others – there's no mention of the average Fereldan's most faithful companion." He watched her face as she thought about this, and then added, "Furthermore, remember what Erramun said when he told us about the apostates?"

Elissa thought back. "He said he was worried about justice being served and…and that another Templar might act selfishly instead of the way the Chantry would want."

"Exactly."

"But…but that was just in regard to apostates," Elissa said uncertainly. "He never expressed concern about normal people. And besides, have you ever heard of Templars indiscriminately massacring small communities?"

"Not in our time. But then again, most people don't remember the Templars as they were in the early days of the Order – they were known as the Inquisition, then," Duncan explained, "and they hunted more than simply blood mages and apostates. They sought out anyone they considered to be a danger to humanity. I wouldn't be surprised if those ancient hunters targeted large groups they considered to be a threat."

"I've never heard that before," Elissa said, but the certainty in her voice had lessened.

"Neither had I until I joined the Wardens," Duncan told her. "An old friend of mine, a mage, first told me of this decades ago. I didn't believe her – I thought it was simply her prejudices speaking – but over the years, there have been some Wardens – former Templars – who confirmed at least some of those stories." He paused, and then added, "Also, from some of the behaviours and practices I have seen, the idea doesn't surprise me."

"Still…" Elissa trailed off, trying to wrap her head around this new idea. "What makes you think that these Templars – if that's what they were – are all of a sudden going back to their old practices? Did they just up and decide that they liked the old way of doing things better than the Chantry's? Because certainly the Chantry wouldn't condone the killing of an entire farm village – even if they had helped a bunch of apostates, which we don't even know if they did."

"I didn't say I was sure it was Templars," Duncan told her. "I only think it's a possibility." He glanced up at the sun, which was just reaching the highest point in the sky. "Regardless, if we are to get to the next settlement and inform the local authorities of what has happened, we must hurry."

"If the next settlement hasn't been reduced to ashes and corpses either," Elissa answered darkly as she prepared to mount her horse. As she did so, she once again felt as though there were eyes on her, but when she glanced around, the only other living creatures were the ravens that gathered around the remaining corpses.

'Creepy,' she thought, returning the unabashed gaze of one of the birds, before she nudged her horse into motion.

She couldn't shake the feeling for the rest of the day, but when she mentioned it to Duncan, he shrugged it off. "There aren't a lot of places for someone to set up an ambush in these parts. If there were anything to be warned about, we'd see it coming. Not to mention your hound there would hear and smell someone coming our way fast enough that we could prepare."

"So you don't feel that? Like we're being watched?"

Something flickered in his expression, but he answered calmly, "I feel no different from usual."

She rolled her eyes at the ambiguity of that statement, but she had become used to Duncan's evasive way of speaking. Despite that, his words comforted her a little bit, though they didn't make the feeling abate. Even as she settled into her bedroll that night, tired from the journey and training with the practice blade, she felt as though someone was studying her from the shadows, their eyes never wavering in their examination of her.

Upon waking the next morning, the invisible watcher seemed to have disappeared, but once they were on the road again, she felt the sensation return. Again, she seemed to be the only one aware of it. Garm trotted along beside the horses without any sign of tension in his gait, and Duncan appeared to be deep in thought, only occasionally glancing up as though to make sure they were going in the right direction. The feeling was intermittent throughout the day, sometimes intense, while other times it was barely perceptible. She was tempted to tell Duncan about it again, but stopped herself; he had already told her there was no reason to worry about it. She had to trust him.

By noon they had left behind the shores of Lake Calenhad and the road began to meander south-east, alongside the vast river. The leafy trees were becoming fewer in number, slowly becoming replaced with scrubby pines that did better in colder climates. The already few forested areas were giving way to rolling hills and outcroppings. In the south-west, Elissa could see that these became larger, rocky hills and moors of yellowing grasses. Even farther still, if she squinted, she could see the bases of mountains in the distance.

The road twisted and winded, parts of the elevated stone structure occasionally disappearing into disrepair, before the entire thoroughfare faded to little more than a dirt path after another hour's travel. The area they were roaming through now had seen rain recently – and if the dark clouds in the west were any indication, they would again soon – and the path became a muddy track across the craggy earth. In many places, the mud was two feet deep, churned by many hooves, indicating they were nearing some form of civilization.

It was another hour's journey before they reached it though, and by that time Elissa was more than glad. Duncan had pushed on relentlessly since dawn that day, and she wasn't the only one who was wearied. Garm's tongue lolled over his lips, and he was panting heavily even as they slowed their gait.

Directly ahead of them, through a gap in the needle-trees that became more numerous the farther south one travelled, she saw a village. It was the usual cluster of farm plots and huts, with plumes of grey smoke rising from the thatched roofs. Dark stone roads led into the town itself, and in the distance she could make out the precise construction of the chantry. It was the biggest edifice there except for the fortified mill-bridge that was set up across the river the town had been built next to. Four wheels churned in the current beneath the bridge, which was made up of two independent structures like little houses, built of stone and wood. Smoke billowed a continuous grey spiral over the area.

'Not a grain mill, I don't think,' she mused as they passed it. Fire was never permitted inside a grain-mill because of the combustibility of the flour within. 'Also, there's little agriculture in this area. Probably a steel mill. Water-powered bellows by the look of it, and probably a blast furnace inside, which explains the smoke.'

The village itself was surrounded by a high, weathered grey stone wall. In one section, it was being repaired with new stone that was lighter in colour. Masons were bent over, working hurriedly, while upon the wall itself, guards in chainmail strode back and forth. Sometimes they would pause to glance out into the distance before resuming their stride.

"Are they expecting an attack?" Elissa wondered.

"It is likely they have heard the rumours of the darkspawn rising in the south," Duncan answered. "And even if they had not, I would imagine that sometimes Chasind raiders make it up this far."

"Chasind? Really? I heard they never venture much farther than Lothering."

"Lothering is but a day's journey from here. There have been occasions with the southern peoples have come this far, especially during particularly harsh winters. I doubt they are received very kindly."

They entered the village itself with what amounted to the usual morning traffic of horses and carts. The peasants that surrounded them wore their clothing in layers – patched leggings, tunics and cloaks – and colours that stood out against the otherwise dark and sombre surroundings of the land. Immediately inside the wall were several farmhouses and fenced plots. The area smelled strongly of cattle, and Elissa supposed that the main exports of this village were leather and steel.

'Leather and arms, and we're close to Lothering,' she thought, remembering abstract maps and lessons on history and economics from what seemed like ages before. "This is Lostwithiel, isn't it? This is where most of Ferelden's steel and leather gets made."

"It is," Duncan answered as they made their way past thatched houses and pens of grunting pigs. "It's the only village that I know of that King Cailan exempted from military service. He wanted them to continue supplying weapons and armour for the war effort, and that couldn't be done if over half the population was sent to Ostagar to serve."

"Makes sense," Elissa remarked thoughtfully. "Good thing the darkspawn aren't smart enough to understand tactics, or they would be heading this way first to cripple our arms production." She expected him to agree with her, but a hard look came into his eyes that made her hesitate. A note of doubt entered her voice. "That part of the old legends is true, right? Darkspawn are mindless beasts, aren't they?"

He didn't answer right away, but finally replied, "It remains to be seen just how sentient darkspawn are."

The answer was purposefully vague, and slightly chilling in what it implied, but she sensed he didn't want to continue talking about it. She decided to let it be. 'For now.'

They climbed wide steps to a narrow, winding cobblestone street lined with stone buildings on either side; these buildings were sometimes two stories high, the second story hanging over in such a way that no sunlight reached the ground. The bottom storeys were all shops, their doors thrust open to invite business. They passed a blacksmith, a carpenter, a tailor, a butcher – who was slaughtering a squealing pig on the cobblestones in front of his shop and whose mess they had to step around. The street was noisy and crowded, the odour almost overpowering to Elissa, who had never been fond of traipsing through city-squares.

After what seemed like forever, they emerged in a cobbled square with a covered market at the center. Duncan dismounted and addressed her.

"Stay here. I'm going to find out where the public stables are. I'd rather we could go straight there without having to walk the animals around in this throng," he gestured to the bustle of townsfolk. "I'll be right back. And watch your purse."

He faded into the crowd without waiting to hear her response. Keeping back her quip about how she had too little in her coin purse to tempt even the most desperate thief, she swung down from her saddle as well and knelt down to check on Garm. He seemed to be doing all right, but all the same she poured the remaining contents of her water skin into one of the tin bowls they carried and gave it him.

"We'll get you some more of that once Duncan returns," she assured him as he lapped noisily.

She had just resumed her watch on the horses, when she felt it again – the unknown watcher had returned, and this time, their gaze felt much closer and more intent.

She turned around quickly, vigorously scanning the crowd. She half-expected to find nothing, or at the least simply some curious peasant examining the condition of the newcomers in the town, but to her surprise, her eyes settled on a cloaked figure standing several yards away.

'Not inconspicuous at all, are you?' she thought wryly, taking in the plain, homespun mantle. It was a dark contrast to the otherwise bright colours of the people here. That meant that the stranger was either not the same one who had been watching Elissa from the shadows, or it was, but he or she was better at blending in than it would appear. 'Perhaps you stand out now so that I can see you this time.'

That thought worried her more than it should have, but Elissa didn't sense a threat. There was no sign of any refined weapon, although she eyed the stranger's long walking stick warily. In the right hands, a stave of any type could cause as much damage as a sword.

The cloaked figure suddenly started forward, intent on Elissa. At her feet, Garm took notice and began to growl, drool and rivulets of water dripping down over his maw. She put a hand upon his head, staying him without a word. 'Let's see what this person wants first.'

A cloak could not hide the way a person walked. Observing the light, purposeful steps and the subtle sway of the stranger's hips, Elissa was sure it was a woman. Whoever she was, she was several inches shorter than Elissa, and the parts of her that were hugged by the cloak were dainty.

She appeared to notice that she had been seen, because she looked up, her eyes defiant and searching at the same time. Elissa found herself caught off guard, both by the strange colour of the woman's eyes – a dark blue that was almost violet in its intensity – and her obviously elven features. Beneath the hood, thick fox-red curls framed her pointed face.

'What's an elf doing so far south?' she thought. As far as she knew, elven communities existed only in the larger cities where there were Alienages, like Denerim. Highever had had a small Alienage, but her parents' had never allowed her inside. From what Mithra had told her, the place was well-enough as Alienages went, especially because the Teryn made an effort to improve the lot of those who lived there. The farther south one traveled, the less hospitable the land was and the less likely one would find land to be given over for an elven quarter. Unless one was Dalish, but from what Elissa had read, they rarely tried to hide their identity. Besides, Elissa could see no markings on the woman's face to indicate she was one of the nomadic breed.

'This place may be bustling, but it's a far cry from Denerim's busy streets,' Elissa thought as she studied the woman. Another thing that bothered her was her posture, which was too straight and her carriage too casual. Every elf that she ever met walked hunched over with their eyes on the ground, as though they were afraid someone might take notice of them. Only those who had made it into high status employment walked with a little confidence, but usually this too was guarded, as though they were waiting for someone to take it from them.

Just as she finished her inspection, the elven woman appeared to finish hers and come to a decision. Her eyes lingered on Elissa's scar from the bandit's knife. That morning, Duncan had carefully cut the stitches out of it and she could now make facial movements without feeling the pulling tug of the catgut sutures against her skin.

The woman's eyes flicked to Elissa's own, and then she said something in a quick, musical language that was unlike anything Elissa had ever heard. She was so busy admiring the flow of it, that she didn't realize the woman was expecting her to answer until there was an awkward pause.

"I don't know that speech," Elissa said.

There was a look of undisguised disappointment on the woman's face, and she peered up at Elissa more scrutinously, as though trying to make sure of what she saw, and then shook her head.

"I don't understand," she murmured, this time in the King's Tongue; Elissa was startled to recognize the underlying lilt of one who came from Highever. Caught off guard by this, she was unable to think of anything to say when the elf continued talking, ""Why would she choose an outsider? And one who isn't more than a child herself?"

"Excuse me?" Elissa ground out, more puzzled than actually insulted at the moment. The elf was probably only a few years older than she was.

"It doesn't matter, you bear the mark she spoke of," the stranger said decisively, and then clasped Elissa's hand with her own. "Come, you must help me – it's urgent!"

"Help you? Who are you?" Elissa demanded, wrenching her hand back.

"I'll explain everything on the way, but we must leave now," the young woman pleaded, trying again to grab hold of Elissa; her other hand tightened on her staff, and she was looking around furtively. "Please – they're going to kill my brother, if they haven't already –"

"Leave? Who's going to kill - ?"

The woman suddenly let go of her with a curse, her eyes on something behind Elissa.

Elissa turned just in time to see Duncan treading toward her purposefully.

"I've found a place for the horses. It's close enough to the guard barracks and the Chantry that our errand will be all the easier," he told her. "We can inform both the guards and the Templars of what's going on. Between the two of them, I'm sure they will sort this business out."

"All right. Give me a moment, there's this woman who's –" her words cut off as she glanced back in the direction of the elven woman, only to find she had vanished. Elissa glanced right and left, trying to find some sign of her, but there was nothing.

"Something wrong?" Duncan asked.

"There was an elven woman here," Elissa answered, and when his eyebrow raised in disbelief, she continued. "I'm serious. She was wearing a hood and…she wanted my help. I think – I'm not sure, but she might have been the one watching us – though I'm still confused as how she managed it, she didn't seem very good at blending in." Elissa looked around again and felt a frustrated anger when this perusal didn't make the hooded stranger reappear. "She said something about her brother being in danger, but…I swear, she was just here!"

She glanced up at Duncan, trying to intimate just what she had seen. He frowned, gestured for her to stay put, and then proceeded to inspect the area around them for any sign of what Elissa had described. When he returned, he shrugged.

"I can't find a trace of her, and it's impossible to even think of tracking anyone with the amount of people here today. Perhaps something else took her attention," he suggested mildly. Elissa wasn't sure if it was simply him humouring her or if he really believed that. "If she wanted to speak to you, no doubt she'll find you. This isn't the largest village in Ferelden. Just the busiest, it would seem."

"I suppose," Elissa agreed doubtfully.

"Come. I would like to finish this business as soon as possible. The inn and stables I found are this way."

"We're staying here tonight?" Elissa asked, the elven woman momentarily forgotten.

"We might as well. Look at those clouds – it's going to storm tonight, and I don't relish the idea of being stuck in it," Duncan told her with an easy smile. "You're not the only one who deplores being cold and wet, you know."

"If you say so," Elissa rejoined, real warmth in her voice for once. The idea of spending the night under a roof and in a dry bed was heartening. As she followed Duncan, she couldn't stop herself from glancing over her shoulder in case the woman reappeared. The streets were still filled with its bustling denizens, but no sign of a hooded figure.

'First I feel like I'm being watched and now I'm seeing people who aren't there,' Elissa thought grimly. 'I must be going mad.'

They settled the horses into the stables beside an older looking inn, and while Garm practically dove into a trough of water in one of the stalls, Elissa and Duncan went next door to the inn to inquire about rooms. The place was probably one of the cheaper establishments in Lostwithiel, for all that it was in the center of the town. Upon seeing the interior of the place, Elissa understood why it was so cheap. The tables and benches of the tavern were old and rickety, and there was a sour odour of boiled cabbage and wet-dog. They didn't stay there long – they spent just enough time procuring rooms and depositing whatever items they didn't need to bring with them – before they headed out toward the barracks. Garm joined them, dripping from head to tail, but looking better than he had seemed earlier.

They wandered along the streets of the town, passing a cobbled square with a covered market at the center until they came to an open area, directly in front of the town chantry. It was a bright and colourful place with a large courtyard, stone on all sides.

Oddly, the entrance to the Chantry was packed with people, and as they neared Elissa saw that they were a collection of common soldiers and Templars. At their centre, two men seemed to be arguing – a guardsman and a younger looking Templar. Both were red-faced, their expressions twisted into mutual dislike.

'Well, that's not something you see every day,' Elissa thought. In Highever, the Templars and the local militia had always been on excellent terms.

"Good afternoon," Duncan said as their small party drew up to the gathered men.

The squat guardsman sent another glare at the Templar, and then responded to Duncan in a tone that was polite, albeit tense. "Greetings."

The young Templar pursed his lips, but whether it was because of the interruption or because of something else, Elissa wasn't' sure, until he ground out in an equally precised tone, "Grey Warden."

For a moment she wondered how he had known, and then she remembered that Duncan's heavy armour and tunic were embossed with the Grey Warden griffin emblem; she had become so used to seeing it that she had completely forgotten its existence.

"Forgive the interruption. My companion and I are travelling through this area, and we encountered some…oddities that we thought we should inform the proper authorities of." Several soldiers and some of the Templars glanced at each other.

'Hm,' Elissa thought. 'It appears they already know there's something going on.'

"Who is in charge of the defense of the outlying villages and hamlets?" Duncan continued, for all intents and purposes simply an inquiring traveller, but Elissa could sense the minor tension in his voice.

Both the captain and the Templar started to speak. There was an uncomfortable pause, and then the older man replied carefully, "Usually the local militia see to such concerns."

"Usually?" Duncan inquired.

The Templar looked as though he was chewing on a particularly tough piece of leather, and Elissa remembered what Duncan had said about their order being tight-lipped about matters they considered to be their business. Finally, he said, "There have been rumours of apostates in this area. Because of the seriousness of such a situation, the town guards have agreed to –"

"Been ordered, you mean," the guardsman interjected coolly. "The Revered Mother all but consigned our souls to the Void if we didn't agree –"

" – have been encouraged," the Templar finished stiffly, "to allow us to help. It is, after all, our business, not that of the lay guard – "

"It's your business until it begins to get out of hand, the way it has!" the guard snapped, but the Templar studiously paid him no mind.

" – therefore, ser, if you have anything you believe we should be made aware of, tell us now and you can be on your way."

Duncan's eyes narrowed, and Elissa understood the sentiment. Neither man sounded particularly enthusiastic at the prospect of news, or of a Grey Warden's sudden appearance, but the Templar was downright hostile.

"I have a feeling you already know what I'm about to say," Duncan finally said evenly.

"If it's about the Moore farm due east of here, then yes, we know," the guardsman said wearily. "Enough travelers come up from Lothering that we've heard all about it in the last day. I've already sent out a contingent of soldiers to clean the place up."

"East?" Elissa inquired. "We're travelling from the north. Out along the route from Lake Calenhad."

The guardsman and Templar exchanged another bout of glances, and this time Elissa was sure she saw something like alarm in both.

"What did you see?" the Templar asked carefully.

"A small hamlet and what we think was a bandit encampment," Duncan explained. "In both instances, the inhabitants appear to have been massacred and burned upon a communal pyre. Yet there was no sign in either case that disease or theft was the motive."

The soldier paled. "How long ago was this?"

"We came upon them yesterday and the day before. Both sights looked as though it had been a week since they were hit," Duncan answered. He treated them to an inquiring look. "You were not aware of those particular incidents, I take it."

"No," the Templar answered, sounding unsure. "Ser Piers never mentioned having seen anything of the sort."

"Ser Piers?" Elissa echoed. "Who's that?"

The Templar seemed to think he had said something wrong, because he didn't answer, and it fell to the guardsman to answer. He did so, dislike filling the glance he sent to the Templar. "Ser Piers is one of the Templars sent from the Mage's Circle. He was here several days ago, searching for some apostates that apparently escaped from the Circle."

"There were no apostates in this area that we were aware of," the Templar said defensively. "It's also unlikely that they would stop here.

"You sound awfully confident of that," Elissa commented. "Is there a kind of mage-repellent in the water or something?"

The Templar gave her a frosty look. "Apostates rarely frequent heavily populated areas with such a large Chantry presence as we have here. There are always Templars stationed in such places, and so they avoid it. I wold imagine they would prefer out of the way hamlets or small villages like Lothering – their Templars are never numerous. The Bann there is lax in keeping up the tithe there, and so the Chantry is unable to afford more than the barest of necessity and protection."

His tone told her what he thought of that.

"This Ser Piers came down from Kinloch Hold in the past week or so, then?" Duncan questioned thoughtfully. "That makes our survivor's story all the more plausible."

"Survivor?" the guardsman and Templar chorused.

"Yes – although, he is no longer with us," Duncan replied, and then launched into a concise version of what they had encountered the day before. He left quite a bit out, but what he did tell them seemed shock the Templar. This surprised Elissa, who had been getting the sense that the Templar knew some of what was going on.

'Apparently not this, though,' she mused.

"…Evidentially this force of Templars is not local, then," Duncan finished thoughtfully. "Where is this Ser Piers now?"

"Surely you can't believe he has done this?" the young Templar demanded. "He is a respected man within the Order, and would know better than to act so."

"Then why didn't he tell you about these incidents? Especially if he travelled down that way?" Elissa asked. "From what you said, he would have obviously seen both of those places, especially if he was only here a few days ago. That would mean – "

Duncan shook his head at her and she fell silent. It was just as well, because the young Templar seemed almost apoplectic at what she was implying. The guardsman, on the other hand, nodded as though something he had suspected had just been confirmed, and inclined his head toward Elissa and Duncan.

"Unfortunately, Ser Piers is no longer with us," he said, and Elissa heard no lie in his voice. "He left for Lothering several days ago and we have not heard from his men since. I would imagine he is still hunting for the apostates." He eyed the Templar again, and in a firm tone added, "We will be looking into this matter more thoroughly though, given what you have told us. Thank you for bringing it to our attention."

Elissa recognized the dismissal, and though she wanted to protest, she knew better than to do so once Duncan indicated that she should be silent. They took their leave, and neither of them spoke until they were far beyond earshot of the courtyard.

And then Elissa exploded.

"That's complete idiocy – People are being killed and they seem more preoccupied with whose job it is to do something about it than with than actually getting to the bottom of the problem! Or with hiding whatever they know, or what they don't know – you said the Templars are defensive about their order, but this is just…it's just…"

She trailed off with an angry huff, realizing that she had become rather incoherent in her anger.

"It is indeed troubling, but there's nothing we can do about it," Duncan said. "The Templars and the guardsmen will deal with the problem as they see fit."

"But they won't!" Elissa protested. "By the time they get through debating about it, how many more communities are going to be harmed? All in the name of hunting down a bunch of mages who probably couldn't cause as much damage put together as what these Templars are doing!"

"We still don't know the entire story. Perhaps there is more to this than simply a maddened Templar – "

"But we're not going to find out, are we? We're just supposed to up and leave this place and hope for the best!" Elissa cried. "That's as bad as standing by and watching it happen in front of you and not budging to stop it – "

"And what would you have me do?" Duncan was suddenly furious. "Bluster over to those two squabbling hens and demand to be let into the investigation? Volunteer to lead a hunt for what may or may not be a crazed band of Templars? We are far from equipped to do such, and I am not a ranger by nature. We already know they are good at hiding their tracks, and over the southern lands such a search could take days – weeks – that we don't have." He lowered his voice, realizing that it was attracting the notice of several astonished passersby. "Your commitment to justice is an admirable quality, but in this case its value is less than the dirt beneath your feet. We have done what we came to do – the authorities are aware of the situation. We must look to our own affairs."

For a moment, Elissa remained completely still in shock at how angry he had become. Since they had met, she had never known him to raise his voice at her, and she had marvelled at his patience with her. Now, that patience seemed to have ebbed away, and she couldn't even resent him for it.

She hung her head, the truth of his words ringing in the silence that followed. He was absolutely right, of course, and once again she had allowed her passions to run away with her, losing sight of the ultimate objective. Going over her own arguments in her head, she realized with a pang how much like a child she still sounded.

"I apologize," she told him with quiet solemnity. "I was not thinking clearly. I will do better."

After a beat, Duncan's expression softened.

"I'm sure you will," he said. "I imagine it must be very difficult to suddenly have your beliefs and ideals challenged as they have been in the past weeks."

From anyone else, the words might have been patronizing, but Elissa accepted them for the compliment they carried in them. "It is difficult, but…necessary, as you said." She adopted a resolute expression. "I mean it. I will do better."

He nodded slowly, and then clapped her gently on the shoulder. "Come, let's return to the inn. I could do for a hot meal, and I think you could too."

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

_Once again, apologies for the delay. My exam preparation has been taking up most of my time, and my beta's computer has been less than cooperative, so he actually only managed to look over this chapter today. I'm still amazed he managed to get it to me within three hours today, so everyone give a big round of applause for Cobar713 (I don't care if you're in the middle of a silent library, all of you better break into spontaneous clapping for the dedication this guy has put into the fic!)_

_I will be taking a break from this fic until after Yule so that I can get some more advance chapters written and, more importantly, spend time with my family. (Although, I might be persuaded to eke out another chapter within the next few days if I get any feedback)  
><em>

_I hope to "see" you all back after the holidays,_

_Thank you so much for your attention and interest in this story,_

_Happy Holidays, Everyone!_

_EC_


	9. Chapter Nine

**_Battle Maiden_**  
><em>by ErtheChilde<em>

* * *

><p><strong><em>"My father once told me that adventure is just someone else knee-deep in shite far from home. Maker, but I wish I had listened to him."<em>**

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Nine:<em>

"What's that?"

"Foxglove."

"Yes. Edible or poisonous?"

"Poisonous."

"And over there?"

"Elfroot. Only the roots are edible, but the entire plant can be used in healing and poison making."

"Mm-hm. And that?"

"Burdock root."

"Which is…?"

"Edible. Good against infections and it can help purify the blood."

"Yes. What about that one?"

"Uh…wood-sorrel, I think."

"You think?" Duncan remarked, and she didn't have to glance over to see him raising his eyebrow. She could hear it in his voice even above the constant clatter of their horses' slow gait. "Misidentifying an herb might get you or someone else killed. Best be sure."

Elissa rolled her eyes. Duncan's tone was severe, and though she understood the truth in his words, she didn't appreciate his constant reminders of what a wrongly named plant, or the wrongly characterized nature thereof, could mean. "All right, it's definitely wood-sorrel."

"Are you certain now?"

"Yes, I'm certain," she maintained, forcing her annoyance down.

"Good. You're right, then. This time," the Warden granted her.

They had left Lostwithiel that morning, following a well-worn trail beside the water's edge. It was unpaved, but had seen enough use that it was permanently shaped into the earth. Across the wide body of water, Elissa could now see clues as to the lands of the south. Aldous's lessons in geography had taught her that the Hinterlands they would soon enter were an ancient wilderness of stark, rock-hewn landscapes, quiet glens dotted with trees, windswept summits, and high cliffs.

All she could see beyond the water at the moment was wild moorland, with many rolling hills. The forests of the north were almost gone now, and where they did grow they were merely dense collections of massive trees that must have seen ages before this one. It was nearing noon, when they usually stopped for a rest. The horses were going at a slow walk, which made conversation possible, but their movement was against the wind.

'And it's getting colder,' she though with a shiver, glad for her cloak.

Duncan wore his as well, though he managed to look a lot warmer in it than she felt. She met his gaze and he smiled lightly, once again the patient teacher. "And what does wood-sorrel do?"

She wracked her brain for a moment, and then pronounced, "You can eat it. It also helps against nausea, bad fevers and cramps."

"Correct. What about over there, in the tall grass?"

She followed his gaze toward a wooded area some yards away. Around the edges grew large, columnar plants that looked almost like trees, their tips bunched closed around what would be new buds in the future. "Moonflower. Poisonous."

He wasted no time on praise, pointing to something a little farther than the moonflower. "And that?"

"Hemlock. That can cause paralysis," she answered, and then a second later added, "Oh, but in small doses it can be used safely as a sedative."

"Very good," Duncan said, and she could hear the approval clearly in his voice. She felt her own measure of pride, even though she remembered a time not so long before when she had ignored lessons in herblore from Nan and the kitchen help. She had always thought it was no more than an art to spice up cooking for fussy guests, but the way Duncan had explained it, not only could it be used to survive in a bad situation, but certain plants and roots could be used as weapons.

'All the same, I'd prefer a good blade in my hand,' she reflected thoughtfully, the idea of wielding an arsenal of poisonous plants from the shadows still striking her as somewhat dishonorable in the long-run. Nevertheless, she would be an idiot if she didn't take lessons when they were offered, even if they weren't exactly of the fighting variety.

"Where did you learn all of this?" she asked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye with curiosity. "You said you grew up on the streets. Something tells me you didn't pick up these nifty little hedge-witch tricks by digging for scraps behind an alley."

He had been telling her about various ways to survive in the wild since they left the area surrounding West Hill, but it hadn't occurred to her until now to ask him about where he had acquired his knowledge. For all his rugged charm, Duncan struck her very much as someone who was more comfortable in a packed city square than traipsing across the open country.

"You don't mysteriously stop learning things when you reach adulthood," the Warden told her, sounding amused. "I've spent twenty years among some fine men and women. It's only natural that I've picked up some rather useful knowledge over time."

"I suppose," Elissa agreed. "Father always told me that Grey Wardens represented the best of every corner of Thedas."

This time brought only a slight flare of pain. She was doing better lately, pushing away the hurt easier. With the exception of losing her composure over the dying bandit, she could almost manage to get through a sentence without choking up at the mention of her family or their fate. It helped to seek out something else to busy her hands or her mind with, but it mostly came down to erecting a mental wall whenever the grief became too much. She doubted that was the healthy way of dealing with things, but there was no time to do much else. She needed to be functioning, and this was the best that she could manage right now.

"That's a matter of opinion," Duncan said after a moment. "Your father was one of the few men who truly believed that. Many have not forgotten the Grey Warden uprising against King Arland two centuries ago, nor the banning of Warden forces in Ferelden."

"Only those who never suffered under it," Elissa pointed out darkly. "There aren't many records about that time, but both sides of my family have passed down stories. The Couslands were almost wiped out. And, well, the Franderels are distantly related to the Drydens, although I'm sure you understand why they don't boast about it in public. Still, in private, my grandfather used to tell Fergus and I stories about the civil war and what caused it. In his opinion, the Grey Wardens were heroes trying to oppose a tyrant every bit as destructive as horde of darkspawn."

"As you said, only those who were not negatively affected by Arland's rule or the civil war would say such," Duncan granted. "Unfortunately, few of the families who were still remain." She thought it was tactful that he didn't mention that her family was in danger of being one of such lines that would not survive to remember. "Not that it would help all that much if they did remain. A large proportion of Wardens hail from Orlais. The Ferelden distrust of the Empire is still great enough that even those who believe the Order itself is useful hesitate to grant us much ground here for fear of inviting Orlesian influence."

"But you said the Grey Wardens are neutral."

"They are neutral – or they are supposed to be. But you will learn that human nature sometimes does manage to get in the way of things," he said. "That's why certain people, like General Loghain, believe the Wardens cannot be trusted." He grinned at her. "Didn't you accuse me of not being trustworthy just because you could detect a faint hint if Orlesian in my speech?"

"Can you blame me for having to make sure?" she replied, a flush of embarrassment creeping across her cheeks.

"Given the circumstances, no," he replied. "The point is moot anyhow. The Order is desperate to gain more ground here in Ferelden, especially in light of the Blight. Over the past twenty years, the First Warden has deferred to Fereldan suspicions by keeping the Orlesian presence to a minimum. Other than myself, the only other Warden with connections to Orlais is a man by the name of David – but he's a deaf-mute."

Elissa raised an eyebrow, the talk of nationalities forgotten. "How does he communicate with the others, then? Wouldn't that be a problem in battle?"

"Not at all. He's been with us long enough that we've developed a kind of battle-sign. Very useful in situations where speaking could mean death."

"That does sound useful," Elissa's eyes widened. "Can you teach me?"

Duncan considered her for a moment, and then nodded slowly. "There will be time enough for that once we settle in at Ostagar. For now, there are matters which have more precedent." She was tempted to protest, but forced her face to remain blank. He hadn't said no.

At noon they stopped to rest the horses in one of the last wooded areas for miles. The hard-packed path ran between it and a steep, rocky ridge that plunged down much farther than the one near the bandit's camp had. Instead of solid ground at its base, though, the rock-face led deep into the water. Although this was the point where the Drakon River met Lake Calenhad, and was thus narrow enough that it could have been crossed in a small dory, the depth of the water and multitude of rapids made it as daunting an expanse of water as the Lake proper.

A large, wizened tree whose roots went deep under the ground gave them some shade and a little shelter from the ever strengthening wind, and it was here they tied the leads. While they saw to the horses, Garm circled their rest-stop warily, snapping at the last insects of the season and thrusting his nose to the ground curiously. He did this several times, woofing suspiciously, but when he didn't seem to be able to find any threat lurking in the shadows, settled down in the shade of the large tree, his tongue lolling out and his eyes narrowed vigilantly. Elissa knew that even though he looked relaxed, he was ready to spring to his feet the minute a threat made itself known.

'Good lad,' she thought as she unclasped the belt holding her sword and sheath from around her waist and secured it to the horse's saddle. Moving around to the horse's other side, she undid the straps keeping her two-handed practice blade protected and took it up.

Rest-stops gave her the opportunity not only to stretch her legs but to get some practice in. She would start off on her own, and usually Duncan would add his comments and corrections as she went. She was improving, she knew. In addition to daily practice, she had been doing exercises to increase the gripping power of her hand and the strength of her arms since Duncan first procured the blade. It was slowly getting easier to perform the techniques, and she was eager to learn better offensive control.

She went through several of the pattern dances, concentrating on her footwork and stance, and then started on the defensive moves that she had recently learned. The ground was oddly soft and springy beneath her feet, but she supposed that was the quality of ground in this area and forced herself to work around it. One could never tell what kind of terrain one would be fighting in.

Duncan watched her for several minutes, before joining her. The sparring was no-contact on account of the fact his blade was not designed for practice, but he had excellent control over his movements, pulling his blows with ease before they could harm her. Even so, Elissa made a mental note to look into some better armour for herself. Some of Duncan's practice blows were aimed at places where, if he had actually been trying to kill her, his blade would have sliced through the rough leather with ease.

"Good," Duncan pronounced after almost fifteen minutes, stepping back and sheathing his sword. "At least Vogel won't be able to say I'm passing off a complete novice to him. Now that you can at least defend against the sword, you should be able to apply that same defensive theory against the weapons you have trained against." His eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. "Knowing Trevelyan, he probably didn't just stop at staffs and swords, am I right?"

Elissa nodded. "He used to bring in soldiers who fought with war hammers and axes. My…parents weren't very pleased when they saw the bruises I used to get off of them, but he said it wasn't just swords a knight had to be afraid of. You know, even if I was never actually going to be a knight."

Duncan looked at her thoughtfully. "I doubt that same preparedness would have carried over to daggers, though."

Elissa made a face. "Ser Trevelyan said only thieves and murderers used daggers, and that it was highly unlikely they would use them in a duel against a sword, so there was no point."

Duncan snorted in amusement.

She added bitterly, "Actually, he said that right around the same time my parents stopped encouraging me to train. I think they were leaning on him to dissuade me from it and learn to be a respectable lady. If I had known what was going to happen –" She caught the Warden's expression and sighed, "I know, I know. I couldn't have done anything."

"The past is over and done with," he agreed. "There are different kinds of darkspawn out there, and not all of them will be coming at you with a sword or an axe." She raised an eyebrow as he reached over his back and brought out one of his daggers. "Do you know anything at all about knife fighting – besides Old Trevelyan's opinions on the matter, of course?"

Elissa shook her head. "Nothing more than I could guess. Easily concealed, rely on close-quarters fighting style – although I saw you down a man by throwing a dagger at him, so I suppose they could be used a bit as projectiles."

"Rarely," he answered. "When you throw a dagger – unless you are absolutely sure it's going to hit its mark – you risk throwing away a good weapon. That could get you killed."

"That makes sense."

"The reason a dagger doesn't usually come up in a duel is because more often than not, men who fight with swords also fight with shields," Duncan continued. "A man armed with a dagger is in trouble if his opponent has a sword and a shield. Or two swords, though that would depend on the skill of both fighters. As you are training with the greatsword, however, it's important you understand the drawbacks as much as the benefits. Fighting with a two-handed weapon will put you at risk if an opponent comes at you with a dagger or a sword and a dagger. Or two daggers."

"Because a two-hander isn't much help unless you've got the room to swing it," Elissa commented. "Daggers and knives won't need that much room."

"Right. Anyone coming at you with a knife or a dagger is going to need to get close to you. That could work both to your benefit and detriment, depending on the situation. If they are coming at you in a frontal assault, that can work to your advantage. Armed with a longsword, you create distance for yourself, provided your opponent cannot get in under your guard. Greatswords are longer, and thus you have that extra distance. Also, most people fighting with daggers are a certain build – short, light-frame, and usually women."

Elissa was surprised.

"Historically, the dagger is a woman's weapon because it's easily acquired and easily concealed," Duncan explained. "In places such as Antiva and Orlais, daggers are as much a tool of the gentler sex as poison is. Here in Ferelden, I've noticed that there are fewer women who carry them – I would imagine Old Trevelyan's attitudes are shared by the majority of your people – but that doesn't mean they aren't used, especially by the criminal element."

"Short and light of frame," Elissa said, storing the information in her head. Then she glanced sidelong at Duncan. "So I suppose you're an exception?"

The Warden chuckled. "I was a small youngster. It was because I was so diminutive that I first needed to learn to fight with knives and daggers, or else I wouldn't have lived very long in the slums. It wasn't until I was about fifteen that I finally hit a growth spurt, and by then I had been fighting with them so long it was just natural to keep at it. Obviously I had to adapt my technique, but by then I knew my abilities well enough to be able to do that."

"Sort of how I'm able to put my sword training to learning two-handed techniques."

"Exactly."

"All right. What else?"

"Unless you're being ambushed in a dark alley or in a crowd, or if they have you surrounded, a knife attack will come at you from the front," the Warden explained. "Overhead attacks are rare. It reduces the accuracy, for one, and for another it leaves a person too open for a counter-attack."

"Axes and mauls have that same problem," she remarked. "Ser Trevelyan always said that unless someone was jumping off a roof above you, I shouldn't expect an enemy to leave that kind of opening."

Duncan nodded. "With daggers, the attack is more likely to come from about shoulder height. That gives you an idea of exactly where it's going to come from and where it might hit, regardless of whether you know your opponent or not. And unlike with a sword, a rogue with a knife will not come at you in a straight, stabbing motion – " he mimed that type of move at a distance of about a foot in front of her, " – but will attempt to cut across your body in a straight sweep – like so."

She noted the difference in approaches, and remarked, "Stabbing forward would break the tip of the dagger. Especially if I were wearing strong armour."

"Yes," Duncan agreed. "Although, there is an exception. I'll show you now." He moved several yards away, and then took up his sword in his right hand, the dagger in his left. "You can continue working with the practice blade for now. This particular lesson has relevance to two-handed techniques as well as one-handed, as you'll see." He took a stance. "Now, try to stop me."

Elissa swallowed. It wasn't the fact that Duncan was not using blunted weapons which made her nervous. It was simply that when he was fighting, even in practice, she sometimes caught a glint of what his many victims must have seen in their final moments, be they darkspawn or not. The cool, methodical gaze of a killer sizing up his victim.

'I wonder if I will have that look when I'm his age,' she thought as she prepared for his attack. For some reason, that thought frightened her even more.

She didn't decide which block to use until he started forward and she observed the position of his weapons as he moved forward at a constant speed. Both the dagger and sword were out in front of him and held levelly, giving her no indication of which he was going to lead with.

'Sword's more dangerous,' she decided and rotated her body to face the incoming blow from that weapon, sweeping upward to take out the sword. At the same time, she kept her mind on the dagger and tried to move out of its range.

To her shock, Duncan thrust the dagger forward, not toward her body, but to the right of her sword; both weapons met at the hilt, and Duncan suddenly exerted a hard pressure that moved her larger weapon out of the way. She couldn't stay within her stance as his sword came down, aiming for the gaps in her armour in a way that would have taken off her arm if he hadn't stopped short there.

He wasn't even out of breath. "Do you see what I did there?"

"You feinted and then used the dagger to deflect my blow the same way I'd use a shield with a longsword," she answered.

"Exactly," he said. "It's a move that can be done either with a dagger or a sword, against any type of weapon, really. If this had been for real, you'd have lost an arm. Painful, potentially fatal, but survivable. If I had deflected you with the sword, there's any number of areas I could have gone for with the dagger, all of them fatal, because of the close quarters we're now in." He pulled back, putting down his weapons and Elissa lowered hers. "What's the lesson?"

"Don't try to block someone attacking you with a dagger," Elissa grumbled, only half-joking.

Duncan barked a laugh. "Close, but no. There are certain circumstances where you can block a dagger, but we won't get into that right now. Think in relation to your weapon right now."

Elissa considered. "Having two weapons means you can attack and defend at the same time, while I would have to choose. Either way, you're going to get a hit on me, so unless I'm fighting with a longsword and a shield, I'd better have some good armour."

"I won't say those ideas wouldn't help, but you are not thinking strategically now. Tell me, what does it take to wield a heavy weapon?"

"Strength," she answered immediately, wondering where this was going. "And hitting where you want it to hit, of course."

"And for someone to become a decent hand at wielding daggers?"

She thought. "Speed and accuracy."

"Exactly. The dagger isn't a weapon overly dependent on strength. It helps, of course, to have power behind any kind of blow, but as long as you are quick and accurate, a knife-blow can be just as critical as a glancing blow with a sword," Duncan answered.

"But a sword can also benefit from spee – oh. You're saying I have to be faster."

"Exactly. Most people think wielding a heavy weapon requires only strength and precision. As you know, that's important, but speed is even more so. It is not as much a problem, moving at the same speed as an opponent with a heavy weapon, because there it is simply a matter of strength and precision. But whenever you find yourself in a situation where you are fighting someone with a knife, you need to move as or faster. Or you might end up with your kidneys carved out of you, armour or not."

"Is there a way to counter that?" Elissa asked. "What you did before –redirecting my sword."

"At that point, there's very little you can do if your opponent is skilled. If not, you can try to have the dagger meet your blade as far from the hilt as possible," Duncan explained. "That part of the sword carries enough momentum to collapse the dagger's resistance. If the dagger's a badly made weapon, you can shatter it and your opponent loses their balance and power. They'll be forced to catch their balance, and it can give you the time to recover and take them out. Here, do it slowly."

He walked her through the steps until she had some general sense of what he meant.

"All right," she said after some moment. "I get it. That might give me a few seconds advantage, but how do you win a fight against a dagger? Or two, for that matter?"

"You don't let it get started," Duncan answered immediately. "Take your opponent by surprise before he can get set and kill him before he realizes he's dying. Remember, daggers are for close combat. Swords have longer reach. If you're as fast as someone with a dagger, you take him out before he can draw his weapon."

"That's all well and good, but doesn't that require me to actually know how to attack properly?" Elissa raised an eyebrow. "Which you haven't actually taught me yet."

"And will not," Duncan said. "That is for an actual adept to teach you. I could show you defense because I have fought against greatswords before and know where they are weak. Once Vogel gives you the basics of attacking, I can show you the best method of fighting offensively against someone wielding a dagger."

"Can't he show me that?"

"Well, yes…although his method of dealing with any 'nuisance wielding toothpicks', as he would call it, involves cleaving his opponents' arms from their bodies," Duncan explained with a twist to his mouth. "Effective, but…crude."

Elissa winced. "Big man, this Vogel chap?"

"Bigger than I am. About as large as a Qunari."

Elissa whistled. The Qunari were a race populating the lands far to the north and were said to be much larger than most humans.

Duncan glanced up at the sun's position. "We should get moving soon."

"One more practice bout?" she implored. "You can show me that move with the sword and dagger again?"

Duncan considered it, and nodded. "One more."

They took their positions again. Without warning, Duncan darted forward with his sword held high and knife low. Elissa watched him come and at the last second whirled out of his path, intending to avoid his weapons all together. As he moved passed her, she tried to take advantage of the short moment when his back was exposed. Before she could get within arm's reach of him, though, he was facing her again. His sword matched hers as she bore down, and she unthinkingly lapsed into the same attack stance as she used when fighting with her longsword. This time he used the sword to nudge her blade out of the way, and she saw his dagger coming up close to the imaginary kill-point.

Eyes wide, she shifted all of her weight to her left and swung out with her right foot to try to knock the incoming weapon away.

Duncan did drop the dagger, but before she actually managed to touch him; he grabbed hold of her foot and twisted lightly.

"Augh!" she exclaimed as that small bit of pressure overbalanced her and she found herself slipping sideways at the same time that she finally lost her grip on the sword. He let go of her foot as she went down in an undignified heap before him. Glancing up, she saw that he had pointed his sword at her throat.

"And that's why you don't mix fighting styles," he told her simply. "Especially styles you're not completely familiar with."

She groaned, angry with herself. "I know – that was one of the first lessons Trevelyan taught me. I don't know what I was thinking, I just…reacted."

"It's not necessarily a bad reflex," Duncan told her as he bent down to retrieve his dagger. "It's a survival mechanism. Finding your hands trapped, you sought out another means to ensure that you could fend off another blow. Most fighters would freeze in those critical few seconds. What you need to work on is having that last minute reaction actually help you instead of hinder you." After sheathing his dagger, he offered her a hand. "Are you injured?"

"Just my pride," she said easily as she reached up to take his hand.

She didn't get to hear his amused answer, because suddenly there was a sinking feeling beneath her. The ground gave way beneath them, and she heard Duncan grunt in surprise as the world rushed past in a flurry of dirt, bark and roots.

She hit the ground on her stomach, the blow knocking the wind out of her, and she hissed a curse. There was a dull thump beside her ear, and when she turned to identify it, she froze; the sight of her practice sword buried upright barely a finger's width from her head made her stomach do a queer little flip.

'That might have been messy,' she thought blandly.

Beyond the blade, she had to squint to make out details in the darkness. She and Duncan appeared to have fallen into a hollow pocket within the roots of one of the giant trees. The only light came from above, where the ground had given way, and beyond that she could hear Garm's frantic barking as he sought to figure out where his mistress had just gone.

'Smart enough not to jump down here after me, though,' she thought with a wince, digging something hard and brittle out from under her. She had landed on several of the same objects, and she brought this one close to her face to see what it was. A moment later, she wished she hadn't.

The curved ivory bone that had been embedded in the old moss and dirt that covered the ground was freshly stripped of flesh, its brightness a stark contrast to the dimness of the hollow.

She swallowed heavily, checking her first impulse to cry out in surprise. There was a sharp intake of breath to her left, and then Duncan hissed, "Stop moving!"

Elissa immediately froze, her senses sharpening in reaction to the command. That was when she noticed the sound for the first time. It had been nearly drowned out by Garm's barks before, but now it was becoming steadily louder; an agitated, echoing clicking noise that hammered in time with her own nervous heartbeat.

"Don't make any sudden movements," Duncan continued in the same low, forcibly calm voice. Straining her eyes in his direction, Elissa realized that he was also unmoving, midway through the process of getting up. His gaze was trained on something near the chasm. "The only reason we're not dead yet us because we surprised them. That will likely change."

There was a sensation like ice water creeping down her spine at these words, but incrementally, she forced herself to follow his focus.

Disbelief warred with fear at what she saw.

Crouched above them was a great, eight-legged creature whose presence had the effect of driving the breath from her body. It was perhaps as large as she was, its entire swollen midsection slick with hair and some dark substance. Elissa had a nasty suspicion it was the blood of the creature whose remains she had fallen into. The part of her mind that retained some semblance of thought recognized it as a kind of spider, while another part gibbered in terror that spiders were never that big. Not even in her nightmares had she encountered such a creature, which she was quite sure was just as well.

The spider was braced against the twisting roots of the tree by strong, hairy legs. Multiple eyes glinted hungrily down at them and its mandibles clicked furiously. She could hear movements on the periphery, and now that her mind was open to the idea, she became aware of countless similar arachnid shapes within the surrounding shadows. The smell of countless carnivores gathered in such close proximity was strong.

Her stomach rolled and she swallowed bile that threatened to rise up. For the first time in her life, the strength of her fear tempted her towards unconsciousness, and only through the knowledge that it would seal her fate was she able to fight it off. Oblivion, no matter how inviting, would not help them out of this mess.

"Please tell me you knocked me out and this is a nightmare," Elissa implored quietly.

"I hope you keep that sense of humour when they're stripping the flesh from our bones," was Duncan's flat rejoinder.

Elissa didn't answer, her eyes flitting around desperately for some avenue of escape while forcing herself to remain limber and ready to move in the event she actually managed to think of a way out of the situation.

At that exact moment, however, the spider perched above them finally seemed to have overcome its surprise at their sudden arrival. It dropped downward, its legs spread to their full length and its jaws working hungrily.

Elissa dove back, just managing to dodge the heavy body where it touched down on the mossy floor. Her hand flew out, grabbing the greatsword as she withdrew; dull or not, it would offer her some protection. She hoped.

Garm's barking became even more frenzied, and she yelled up, "Garm, stay up there!"

She heard the sound of weapons being unsheathed and saw the blur that was Duncan race forward. He sliced at the creature's forearm with his dagger and the spider jerked back, a greasy white fluid seeping from the nearly severed limb. Duncan took advantage of its retreat to flit forward and shove his sword into the side of the spider's head with a wet squelch.

The beast shivered and went still.

Elissa felt something move behind her and spun in surprise, coming face to face with the glittering eyes and gleaming fangs of another spider. She screamed and her body moved mechanically, snapping into a clumsy back edge strike. Her sword made a shallow cut to the spider's face, making it move back, but she realized too late that she hadn't put enough force into it. Before she could react, it lunged at her again, sending her tumbling down to the ground. It bore down on her, clicking and hissing as it prepared to rip into her –

The fluid-soaked blade of Duncan's long sword punched through the creature's abdomen. Standing on the creature's back, Duncan grunted and from what she could see of his shoulders, made a wrenching motion. The spider jerked and twisted away from her in its death throes, and Duncan yanked his blade out as he leaped off.

"Plan?" she gasped as he hauled her to her feet. She automatically placed herself back to back with him.

"Stay alive long enough for me to come up with one," he replied, and somehow his voice remained in its usual deadly composure. Despite the fact that more of the hateful beasts were inching closer to them, his calmness comforted her.

She nodded, although he couldn't see it, and tightened her grip on her sword. For the dull blade to have much of an effect, she would have to put more effort into each swing, which would tire her faster than a regular blade would. She swore inwardly, thinking of the Cousland blade fixed securely to her horse, where it could do her little good.

'Not important right now,' she told herself, stepping carefully as she and Duncan faced the enemy surrounding them. A spider skittered forward and she slashed at it. It jerked backwards in retreat. 'What's important is getting out. Preferably alive.'

That seemed like wishful thinking. The spiders' numbers were increasing; some were inching down the cavern's dirt and web-lined walls, almost tentative in their advance.

"Over here," Duncan ordered, and she followed him over to an almost vertical section of dirt and rock that was, for the moment, free of any spiders or webs. The spiders continued to follow them, hemming in close together, but at least for the time being they didn't need to worry about being taken from behind.

'Still no closer to getting out,' she thought grimly. The way she saw it, there were only two ways out of this nest, and neither appealed to her. The first involved trying to climb up the wall behind them; the problem there was that while she was sure Duncan would be able to manage such a feat, she wasn't sure if she would be able to. 'At least not before they swarm me and pick me off the damn thing.'

The second option involved delving deeper into the darkness of the underground cavern and trying to find a way out that way. Judging from the bones on the mossy floor and the fact that she and Duncan had fallen through above, the spiders had to have come from somewhere else.

'We'd probably get jumped from the shadows for our trouble,' she thought.

Duncan seemed to have come to a similar conclusion, as well as a decision.

"Here." She blinked in surprise as Duncan suddenly held out his sword to her. He was digging into the satchel at his waist. "If you can't aim to kill, go for their joints or underbellies, they're weak there. And mind their fangs."

"What are you–?"

"I'm going to see how far down this hollow reaches," he told her as she dropped the dull two-hander in favour of his longsword. He had brought out his other dagger and faced the oncoming flock of spiders. "If there's a way out, we'll take it. If not – we climb."

Elissa's eyes widened even as she hefted Duncan's blade. It was heavier than the Cousland blade, but thankfully her practice with the two-hander had prepared her for the change. "I don't know if I can do that – at least not without a rope."

"Then it will be your first lesson," Duncan grunted, and charged forward suddenly. "It's pass or fail!"

His movement triggered immediate interest from the spiders, most of which charged forward to meet him. The foremost spider lunged, two forelegs raised and fangs dripping a viscous black fluid, but Duncan was faster. He plunged both daggers into its belly and rent the flesh as though it was no harder than butter. The momentum of his lunge knocked the wounded spider back and Duncan yanked the daggers out as it fell, plunging them down once again in a flurry of repeated blows that saw the creature dead before it came to a rest on the ground.

Another spider darted forward and Duncan dodged out of its path, lashing out neatly as it passed and deftly slicing its head from its body. He followed through on the swing, ducking low and cutting the legs out from beneath another.

'All of that in seconds,' Elissa thought, admiration peeking through her fear as a few spiders that showed no interest in the Warden scrambled toward her. She dissuaded them none too gently, trying to remain aware of Duncan's progress into the darkness beyond as she did so. She didn't relish the idea of being left alone in this nightmarish cavern for longer than was needed.

Duncan continued onward, his advancement into the dark leaving dead and wounded spiders in his wake. Elissa had known that he was talented, but she had only seen him fight men and only with a sword. It was clear, though, judging from the speed and deadly accuracy he employed, that the daggers were his true talent and creatures even of unnatural quality no more than fodder for them.

A spider managed to get under her guard and she stumbled backward in shock, landing in a painful crouch. A jet of webbing whistled within inches of her nose, and she ducked into a roll, feeling another rush through the air where her head had been.

"Pull your head out of your arse or you're going to get killed!" she snarled to herself as the spider hissed, possibly in frustration.

Elissa moved forward, chopping into the joint of one of its legs. The creature whined and hissed in pain, faltering momentarily. She took advantage of the brief lapse to dart forward and take a second limb. As it teetered, trying to find its balance, she stooped beneath the body. With an effortful thrust, she plunged the sword into the leathery underbelly and hauled it upward with a groan.

Foul smelling blood and white ropy innards poured from the wound, and she jerked the sword free, backing away from the creature. It shuddered, tripping over its own legs, and collapsed on the ground in front of its fellows.

She half-hoped the death of one of their own would give them pause, and for a moment their incursion did seem to slow as they chittered around the fallen spider. Then, to her disgust and dismay, a few of the spiders set upon the corpse with hungry relish, while the others simply continued on toward her.

"I'm going to throw up," she informed no one in particular, brandishing her sword and taking a step back.

By now, Duncan had completely disappeared into the darkness of the spider infested cavern. Although she could hear the sounds of struggle in the distance, for all intents and purposes, she was alone and the creatures were closing in.

Fear and revulsion churned within her, half-formed thoughts and reactions warring for supremacy.

'Stop it,' she ordered herself when she felt panic rise. 'He wouldn't have left me here if he didn't think I could hold my own for a few seconds.'

She ignored the part of her that told her it could be more than a few seconds if the spiders killed Duncan and took a stance, facing down the oncoming creatures.

In her mind, the world seemed to slow, almost as if time itself was uncertain of how to proceed. She felt the crystalline balance of the moment that followed, silent enough that she could hear the thrum of her heartbeat in her ears and the scrabble of arachnid legs. She was archly aware of her breathing, forcibly calm, and the tingling in her muscles. Her mind raced, examining and rejecting different plans of action faster than she could comprehend them.

Then the moment was gone, and the world rushed back to her.

Elissa skidded forward, taking out a spider to the right of her with a great swing, severing its head from its body. Another barrelled forward, pincers clicking hatefully. It hauled itself up when it was about a foot in front of her, and the muscles of its spinnerets worked furiously, giving her the only clue as to what was about to happen. She yelled, dodged to one side in an awkward little hop to avoid the jet of webbing it shot at her, and nearly fell into one of its companions. Recovering herself, she spun and sliced into the head and several arms of the second spider, which lurched back.

There was a vice-like pressure around her free arm as the first creature managed to catch it in its jaws, and she cried out in pain, swinging around and plunging her sword through its eyes and deep into its skull. The spider made a rasping sound, letting go of her arm. Pulling it back, she took barely a moment to make sure the spider's fangs hadn't gotten past the leather of her armour, and then brought her sword back around, cleaving the legs out from under the second spider. It hissed in a combination of anger and pain, tottering backward, and she finished it off with a concentrated blow to its belly.

Using the dead spider as a stepping stone for better momentum, she vaulted upwards. Putting as much power into the blow as she could, she came down on the nearest spider, plunging her blade down through the swollen belly.

As she wrenched her blade sideways to finish it off, the hollow suddenly shook. Trickles of dust and rock fell from above, and the spiders clicked in nervous excitement at the vibrations. The cavern was briefly lit by a dull light from the direction Duncan had disappeared into, and she whipped around to find out what was going on.

Duncan was running back to her, dodging spiders left and right, a grim expression on his face, but it wasn't this which caused her breath to catch. Beyond the Warden, she could now make out countless other shapes illuminated by the odd flame, fleeing the light and heat. Dozens and dozens of arachnid shapes moved around as the light disappeared, returning the cavern to its previous obscurity.

"It's not a nest," Duncan yelled as he rushed a spider from the side, stabbing into its abdomen. "It's a colony. We've got no choice but to go up!"

"What was that light?" Elissa demanded as she decapitated another.

"Fire bomb," Duncan returned, dodging. "I've only got one left – we're going to have to make it count."

"Make it cou – ?"

Elissa's vision suddenly swam with white as a suffocating, sticky mass covered her mouth and nose. She was thrown backward, her arms and torso pinned to the ground by the spider's webbing. Her eyes widened in horror as an enormous form sprang at her. She struggled, trying to free herself from the web, but the more she tried, the tighter it seemed to get.

The stickiness was so tight over her face that she couldn't even scream. The spider clicked triumphantly and bore down on her, fangs bared.

Duncan leaped forward and kicked the creature soundly, knocking it off balance and onto its back. It squealed angrily, trying to scramble right-side-up, but Duncan stepped up onto its underside to keep it in place and sliced into its body with the ruthlessness of a butcher until its screeches died away and its legs folded in onto itself.

Another spider had crawled forward to finish her off. As it attacked, she lashed out desperately with her feet, trying to fend it off as much as she could even as stars danced in front of her eyes from lack of oxygen. The spider danced out of her way, poking at her with a hairy leg the same way a cat poked at a mouse it was about to devour.

And then it screeched in agony and reared. Duncan had landed on its back and was now hanging on doggedly, his daggers sunk deep into the back of the creature as it flailed wildly. He used to daggers to gain better hold, and once he had it, moved them out in a scissoring motion that separated head from body.

As the corpse fell forward, Duncan slipped off and in a quick series of cuts, freed Elissa from the webbing.

As soon as she was free, Elissa flipped over on her hands and knees, the threat of rising bile working its way to a forefront. It was only because of this movement that she noticed the spider, which had raised itself up behind the Warden, poised to attack him from behind.

Without a conscious thought, the sword was in her hand again and she launched forward, stabbing up.

White ichor dripped down her arms, causing her leather gloves to smoke from the acidity, but she gritted her teeth and shoved the blade further, jerking it sharply to one side to rend the innards of the beast. The creature finally stopped moving and making noise, dropping harmlessly to the ground and she moved back.

"Obliged," Duncan said as they moved back to back, and she wondered if she was imagining that hint of amusement in his voice. He motioned for her to get behind him. "I can hold them off for a while. You start climbing."

"Are you sure there's absolutely no other –?"

"Go!" Duncan ordered.

Elissa studied the wall quickly, calculating the likelihood of being able to climb it. She figured she would be able to, eventually, but not within the small amount of time it would take before the spiders overwhelmed even Duncan's superb fighting skills and then came after her. Then they would both be dead, instead of just one of them.

'And let's face it, Ferelden needs the Grey Warden Commander at Ostagar more than an untried teenager,' she thought with the grim certainty of someone accepting the inevitable.

"No, you," she replied firmly, stepping back into her fighting stance while he swung at a spider.

"Elissa –!" he sounded exasperated, but she cut him off.

"I can't climb that, but I can buy you time – especially if you leave me your fire bomb," she cried, blinding another spider. "Get up, and if you have a chance, send down our rope. It's the best we can do right now!"

Although she couldn't see his expression from where she stood, she could almost feel the hard gaze he leveled at her. His silence told not only told her that he knew she was right, but that he had been contemplating the same course of action. It was obvious he didn't want to leave her behind after the trouble it had taken to get her, but she doubted he had expected to fall into a nest of flesh-eating spiders.

There was a sudden whirring sound and something dropped down from above. Elissa barely had time to register the uncoiling shape of the rope when a larger form followed it. The hood of the descending figure's cloak slipped off as she touched down, and the familiar flash of red and pointed ears registered in Elissa's mind.

"You!"

"Climb!" the elf woman ordered as she let go of the rope, turning to face the oncoming spiders and thrusting her hands out to her sides. "I will handle this!"

Elissa opened her mouth to point out that the woman was unarmed, when there was a sudden flash that lit the cavern and orbs of flame sprouted from the woman's hands. "You're a –!"

"You heard her!" Duncan cut her off, obviously making a split second judgement. "Move!"

In response, Elissa thrust Duncan's sword back to him and grabbed hold of the rope. As she climbed, the elf gave a wary yell as the flames around her hands grew stronger and she assaulted the nearest group of crawling beasts around her. The sound of agonized squealing and clicking was almost as nauseating as the scent of burning hair and fat. In the meantime, Duncan dissuaded the stranglers with his sword, chopping at any incoming arachnid limbs.

As flames lit the web-infested hollow, the spiders backed away from the humans. Rappelling up the wall, Elissa noticed that despite her impressive show of flames, the mage was careful not to actually light any of the webs on fire.

'It would probably bring this place down,' she considered with a grunt of effort as she moved upward. She managed to scramble over the crumbling earth they had fallen through and saw that the rope had been looped rather inexpertly around the nearest tree. She swore, surprised that it hadn't come undone as she climbed and dove toward it to better fix the knots. Garm barked excitedly around her as she worked, and she had just finished her work when Duncan's head rose above the hole and he pulled himself out.

He turned and called down. "We're up – grab hold of the rope, and we'll pull you up!"

Elissa knelt down beside him, staring down into the hollow where the mage was still fending off the spiders.

She didn't seem to have heard Duncan, and as one of the creatures came to close, she snarled a curse, clenching her fist tightly; an eerie, blood-red glow emanated from it and she thrust it up and into the abdomen. The beast jerked and twisted, trying to escape the thing that was hurting it. An odd smoke was rising from it. The mage pulled back, bracing herself against the wall and kicked out, knocking the spider into the others.

There was a muffled pop and squelch, and suddenly the air was filled with wet, foul-smelling globules that Elissa realized only a moment later were bits and pieces of the smoking spider. There was a high pitched, angry squealing from the others around her, and they backed away from the mage, wary.

"Girl – come up, you can't hold them all off!" Duncan ordered.

The elf inclined her head up at them, and even at the distance Elissa saw the determination snapping in them. The mage called, "Get back, then!"

Without waiting, she moved her hands in a complicated pattern and shouted out an incantation. The fissure was lit with blinding light as a growing ball of flame radiated outward from her, instantly lighting the entire cavern; it exploded away from where the mage stood, igniting the webs and roots that lined everything. The force of it took out the spiders immediately surrounding the mage, but that was all that Elissa saw before Duncan hauled her backward.

A great, violet and orange plume of flame exploded upward, the force shaking the ground under them. Duncan and Elissa scrabbled back, and as they did the ground around the hole crumbled inward by inches. The horses screamed with fright from the sudden shaking earth, pulling at their leads but were unable to get away. Telltale signs of flames flickered around the edges of the hole, and acrid smoke rose high. Below, the squeals of the burning spiders continued to echo, but in the rest of the clearing there was an uneasy quiet.

Elissa and Duncan regarded each other, and Elissa opened her mouth to ask whether he had seen if the mage got out, but it was then that her stomach decided it had held out long enough. She wrenched herself away from Duncan and was on her knees being violently ill.

For some reason, Duncan let out a tense laugh. "You can kill a man with no more than a frown of discomfort, but you completely lose control over yourself when it comes to a few spiders?"

Elissa glared, wiping her mouth. "A few spiders?"

"All right, a few dozen."

"Where I come from, giant spiders aren't something you see every day," she snapped as she got to her feet, wobbling slightly. "Giant rats, maybe, but those…things are…were…" She shuddered. "I'm going to have nightmares about that for the rest of my life."

"Be thankful there is a rest of your life," Duncan said heavily. "If it weren't for that mage, you – "

Garm began to snarl, and Elissa and Duncan looked up.

The overwhelming heat had disappeared, but the hole in the ground was still smoking. A sudden burst of what looked like green insects appeared, hovering in a drunken swarm. Duncan's hand was on the hilt of his daggers, and Elissa reached reflexively for her own weapon only to remember that the practice blade had remained in the cavern and the Cousland blade was still attached to her horse's saddle.

There was a deafening pop and a plume of greying blue smoke exploded around the swarm. When it cleared, the mage was standing there, several angry burns and welts covering her skin. There were entire parts of her cloak burned away and some of her hair as well. Despite her obvious pain, she lurched forward.

"Move!" she ordered, staggering toward them. "There were too many to kill them all – they're still coming –"

Elissa wanted to know how the elf could have survived the blast, but she never got the chance to ask the question.

Up from the smoking hole in the ground and from several hidden crannies around the base of the tree, dozens of ash-covered and, in some cases, still burning spiders began to emerge. They scattered in all directions, attempting to escape the ruin that had been brought down on their nest.

The horses screamed again, eyes rolling and mouths frothing, and this time did manage to pull free. Before Elissa or Duncan could make a move toward them, they disappeared deeper into the wooded area, followed by quite a few of the spiders. By then the entire area was swarming with beasts, and although the creatures appeared to dislike the brightness of the sun, they also recognized the two humans that were backing away. A significant number branched off from the main horde and was heading straight for them.

"Andraste's flaming tits, are you serious?" Elissa snarled.

"Run!" Duncan ordered, darting forward to grab the mage before she could topple over and then hurrying back in the only direction that wasn't teeming with arachnids.

"Run where?"

"It doesn't matter, as long as it's away!" the mage cried as she leaned into Duncan for support.

Elissa tried to force her mind to think of a way out of the latest predicament. Without horses, there was no way they could outrun the eight-legged creatures for very long, and climbing out of reach wasn't an any better option, given the lack of trees and the fact the spiders could easily follow them.

"Can't you…zap them with lightning or something?" she demanded.

"I used the last of my mana on a shield spell and then getting out of that hole," the mage shot back.

Elissa held back another curse, and then glanced at the Warden. "You still have that last fire bomb?"

"Last resort," he told her. "We wouldn't be able to get clear before it went off."

'By which you mean me, the mage and possibly Garm,' Elissa thought grimly. There was no doubt Duncan would be able to clear it in time.

Another idea suddenly came to her.

"Can spiders swim?" she cried, eying the nearby ravine. The idea of the cold water and the rapids below almost made her stop running, but she knew that would mean a more imminent death.

She saw Duncan follow her gaze, and then a mad glint flickered in his eyes, the corners of his mouth pulling upwards in an almost feral grin. "I suppose we're about to find out."

If she was surprised by his immediate acceptance of the plan, she didn't have time to show it. They changed course, making a beeline for the edge of the precipice, Garm at their heels and the mage clinging to Duncan. The stampede of spiders and rumbling ground beneath them became louder. Even in the open air, the scent was nauseating and she could hear them shooting out jets of webbing, although whether it was to catch the fleeing people and mabari or to hold on to a part of the landscape that wasn't crumbling, she wasn't sure.

"Now!" Duncan yelled.

The mage shrieked, trying to pull away from Duncan. "Are you bloody mad?"

"Garm!" Elissa ordered, knowing the dog wouldn't jump unless the order came from her.

He let out a half-terrified, half-angry yelp as they threw themselves out over the bluff and into the icy water.

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

First - I apologize for anyone who has spider phobias. I don't have arachnophobia, but writing this chapter even I winced several times. If you did too, I've done my job ^_^

Secondly, many apologies for the delay. I spent my holidays rereading my favorite alternate-history series, and by the time I got back into the mood to write the next chapter, family issues and school starting up again had gotten in the way. Once I have my final schedule for school assignments figured out I'll be able to establish a regular update schedule again, but for the next week or so it will be whenever I can get a spare moment to write.

Thirdly, thanks go out to athos-aramis and Cobar 713 for editing this chapter for me. They sacrifice time (and in one's case health!) to help edit this fic, so please give credit where credit is due.

Finally, I would absoutely love some constructive criticism on this story. As you know, each chapter is rather long (because I just can't write short chapters. I tried, it doesn't work. Oh well.) Each chapter represents an investment of three days to a week on my part (not including my betas input) and takes away from work I could be doing on my own original fiction and work I should be doing for school. While I do write for the love of the craft and my own joy, it's a little discouraging to see so many people reading the fic but not bothering to leave a comment. If you're one of those people who doesn't review until the fic is over (and I am guilty of this myself, though I am trying to get out of the habit), please consider just taking a minute to jot down what you liked and what you didn't like. Comments like that help me fix things as I go along; comments after the story is written, while still welcome, won't really have a helpful effect.

Well, that's all for today, and I really do hope to have something ready for you next week,

EC


	10. Chapter Ten

_**Battle Maiden**_  
><em>by ErtheChilde<em>

_**"My father once told me that adventure is just someone else knee-deep in shite far from home. Maker, but I wish I had listened to him."**_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: Hello everyone, and welcome back after such a long time! I apologize for the impromptu hiatus, but I've been sick the past few weeks, and trying to write a decent chapter when you're on medication and with your head feeling like cotton…not fun. I hope to do better in the future, school permitting.

Also, **for those of you who are major sticklers with the canon**, my beta mentioned that the fact that the elf mage is a shapeshifter might cause some annoyance or incredulity. I beg of you to suspend your disbelief in regard to that fact and simply attribute it to me delving into a bit of AU for the sake of the plot. There's a perfectly good explanation for her abilities, but talking about them in this fic would mean me going off on a tangent. I hope to explain all about it once this fic, which is my main priority, is completed. Thank you for understanding, enjoy the chapters, and I've left review comments at the end.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Ten:<em>

'Worst idea ever,' Elissa thought in the split second before she hit the river's surface. The mage's wordless yell and Garm's distressed howl cut off as she suddenly found herself smashing into the river with bruising force.

The roaring rush of water was cold enough to feel like burning where it touched her skin, but this was all Elissa had time to notice before she was caught by the current and hurtled forward. She fought against the pull, and was momentarily able to get her head above the surface. She managed to catch sight of Duncan farther to her right before the white spray obscured him and the strength of the rapids hauled her under again.

Solid, door-sized jets of icy water crashed into her, causing her vision to spin and her head to pulse with pain; the torrents continued, letting up only during the moments when she was submerged and weightless beneath the water. Then, whenever she neared the surface, they became rough again. Something large moved by her, thrashing wildly. She thought it was Garm until a long, spindly limb brushed against her back. At least one of the spiders had either followed them or fallen over the bluff and was desperately fighting the onrush, its many legs hindering its efforts.

'On second thought, this is still better than being eaten by spiders,' she maintained as she kicked out reflexively, propelling the floundering body away from her. Unfortunately, this sent her careening into a submerged rock.

The water's depth was shallower here, but the rocks larger and the undercurrent stronger. She swore inwardly as she knocked into another boulder, and felt her unprotected skin scrape against a third.

She tried to grab hold of the next rock, if only to pull herself upward to take another breath. She succeeded for a moment before the slipperiness of the submerged rock sent her tumbling down, banging painfully against it before going under again.

'I'm going to be smashed to a pulp before I drown,' she thought grimly. 'I've got to get out of the rapids at least.'

It took several tries and more painful impacts before she managed to swing her body around so that she was more or less on her back, her legs and feet out in front of her. The position would at least take some of the force from any more collisions, and she had a better chance of being able to breathe this way.

From the few glimpses of her surroundings that she permitted herself, she saw that the flow had pushed her closer to the southern bank of the river. She could no longer see any sign of the others in the constant white spray.

A pang of guilt at having misjudged the strength of the rapids needled at her heart. 'Don't think of it. I can't help anyone until I get out of this mess.'

The knowledge was bitter, but the truth of it bolstered her resolve. As the river moved her forward, she tried to angle herself toward the shore closest to her, hoping that eventually the current's thrust would send her there.

Unfortunately, another altercation with a submerged rock sent her spiraling beneath the surface again.

For a long moment, she was weightlessly submerged, and it was as though everything was still. And then force thrust her down and forward. Within the dark depths of the river, she was blind and could only hear the rush of water pressing past her. She was dizzy, thrashing desperately in any direction out of reflex before her mind started to work again.

'Don't get disoriented now or you will drown,' she commanded herself.

Telling herself it was no different than being caught in the tide on the beach near Highever, she pushed herself not to fight the current as it pulled her. Instead, she allowed a precious bit of air escape, squinting into the churning darkness of the river to see which direction it floated.

It drifted off to the right, and she dragged herself after it.

Her head broke the surface for an instant, allowing her another gulp of air, before the strength of the flow dragged her back down again.

'It's too strong,' she realized with a sinking heart. 'It'll pull me back down if I try. I've got to get out of the main current first.'

Reoriented now, she ignored the instinctive reaction to try to break the surface again, and instead dove down deeper, trying to escape the flow. The current continued to pull at her, but she fought doggedly, desperation and stubborn fear pushing her farther down.

Only when she thought her arms were going to give out did she begin to feel the river's undertow begin to lose its force. She kicked out desperately, pointing herself toward the shore closest to her.

'A little farther,' she wheedled, trying to bargain with her body's endurance. She had to be sure she was out of the reach of the undertow before trying to surface. The painful burn in her lungs was making dark spots form in her field of vision, and it was only when she couldn't take it any longer that she forced herself upward.

The strength of the river's flow had at least lessened enough that she wasn't drawn back into worst of the current, and she managed to make it to the surface just in time. The first sharp intake of breath was painful and she was unable to immediately draw a complete breath into her air-starved lungs. It took several seconds before the sensation of suffocation left her.

As she treaded water, ignoring the burn of muscles that were long past exhausted, she looked out across the expanse of river for the others. Still, there was no sign, but –

'Wait,' she thought, she squinted to an area a little farther from her. A flash of colour was bobbing in and out of view, and she realized it was the vibrant-haired mage. Elissa swam forward without a thought, a barely perceptible feeling of hope bubbling within her that someone might have survived. Upon closer inspection, that feeling faltered a little.

'Damnation,' she thought. The elf was bobbing grotesquely on her side in the water, her face a mass of bloody scrapes that suggested she too had come off badly against the rocky rapids.

Still, there was a chance, Elissa decided, and hauled the mage over to her. While the current wasn't as strong as it had been near the rapids and the center, it was still hard to maneuver against. A series of contortions and several curses later, Elissa managed to get the mage's weight across her back, one arm over her shoulder and clamped in her left to keep the elf from slipping back into the water.

Toting her burden, she struck out in the direction of the shore, powered only by determination to get out of the river.

Cold gnawed inward. Water like this could kill a person in ten minutes or less, and combined with the weight of her sodden armour and the mage on her back, she was losing a lot of body heat.

Half-wading, half-crawling up onto the shore, waist deep, she dragged the limp body of the mage out of the river and onto the bank. The elf wasn't breathing, and Elissa thrust a hand out quickly, searching for a pulse.

Unable to detect even a faint beating, she pushed the woman's head to the side, hoping that any water she might have taken in would drain out. When none did, Elissa tilted the woman's head back again. Pinching the woman's nose closed, Elissa covered her mouth with her own and blew several strong breaths into the unconscious woman's mouth.

"Come on!" she ordered, moving back and pressing her hands against the elf's sternum. She pushed downward, repeating the pumping motion several times, before she checked for a pulse again. Still unable to find anything, she repeated the cycle several times.

Just as she was beginning to fear the worst, the mage gave a small spasm and there was a choking rumble in her throat. Elissa turned her on her side as the elf vomited up water and bile.

"Oh, thank the Maker something's going right today," Elissa breathed, relaxing incrementally. The mage moaned feebly, and gazed blearily up at Elissa. She murmured something unintelligible, and then her eyes rolled up in the back of her head. Elissa swore, checking the mage again. She was still breathing, and when Elissa felt for a pulse, she managed to discern a faint beating despite her chilled fingers.

'Still alive, but for how long?' Elissa wondered. She turned the mage over onto her side, folding knees and arm in close, hoping that the position would help the elf retain at least some body heat. There wasn't much else that she could do.

The adrenaline that had propelled Elissa since she fell into the river was finally beginning to ebb, now replaced with a rising panic. Leaving the unconscious woman behind, she trudged back to the river, trying to find the others either washed up nearby or some sign of them on the far shore. She was dismayed to realize that she couldn't find them, and that the river had carried her far from any recognizable place.

'I didn't realize we were in the water so long,' she thought, squinting up toward the oncoming flow. She couldn't even see where they had fallen in, but from the position of the sun and the speed of the rivers current, she guessed it was several kilometers back. 'I could be wrong though.'

She cupped her hands around her mouth and called out. "Duncan! Garm!"

Her voice echoed across the water, but there was no answer. She began to pace along the shoreline, calling out every so often and trying to ignore the cold that was settling into her bones. When her teeth started to chatter, she gave up the search along her side of the river, casting a glance to the northern shore. It was roughly a kilometer away, a distance she would have been able to swim with no problem if the water hadn't been as cold or as rough as it was.

'Maybe they got swept farther down,' she thought as she returned to the unconscious mage. 'If they did, they'll be looking for me.'

If they weren't just going to find two frozen bodies, she would have to keep herself and the mage warm.

Returning to the fallen elf, Elissa examined her as best she could. Up close, she realized the woman was not much older than she was, perhaps a year or two at most. There were several bad scrapes where she had been dashed against the rocks, the worst of which being a bloody bump on the back of her head. Most curious was what appeared to be a recently healed scar that sliced across the elven woman's neck, almost like a grotesque second smile.

'How did she live through that, I wonder?'

There was no time to really speculate on it. There was little Elissa could do for the mage besides put pressure on the bleeding wounds and hope the elf would wake soon. Concussions were nothing to be trifled with, and the longer someone remained unconscious after a blow to the head, the less likely they would wake up. 'She won't wake up at all if I don't do something. We'll both end up freezing to death unless I get a fire going.'

It wasn't actually all that cold at the moment, not even below freezing, but they had been soaked to the skin by the late autumn water. A wet body lost heat much faster than a dry one, and it was going to get a lot colder within the next few hours as night approached.

If the mage hadn't been out cold, Elissa would have swallowed her dislike of magic and asked her to conjure a fire. Unfortunately, it wasn't likely to be the case any time soon. Elissa would have to make one from scratch, as Duncan had showed her but which she had never done without his helpful hints.

The thought of Duncan made her stomach clench, and Elissa glanced back across the river with the desperate hope that she might see some sign of him or Garm. A second, more painful tightening of her muscles took place at the thought of Garm. While Duncan was becoming a friend and comrade to her, more than simply a superior, Garm was family. He had been her best friend for years now when she had had no one else, and since that night more than a fortnight before he had been the only link she had to the world that had once been hers. Without him, she felt vulnerable and alone. She itched to return to the shore to see if they had washed up nearby or if they had managed to get out on their own. They could be searching for her right now, for all she knew.

She glanced back at the mage. As much as the woman was a stranger, it felt wrong to leave her again while she searched for Garm and Duncan. At the moment, Elissa was her best chance for survival, and the responsibility of that weighed on her.

'First make sure neither of us freeze, and then go look for the others again,' she decided forcefully, even as tears threatened to spill over. She refused to think the worst, knowing that if she did, she would probably end up sitting down and weeping in frustration.

The lesson in fire making had been one of the first Duncan had taught her, although it hadn't really started to stick until after the bandit attack. Before then, she hadn't cared if she froze to death, and it hadn't occurred to her that Duncan could teach her anything. To say she had since changed her opinion both of those issues would be an understatement.

"I really hope his lessons took better than Mother's etiquette lessons," she murmured as she tried to find some prospective materials. "Though she would probably argue that proper napkin folding is just as important as not freezing to death."

She bit her lip at that. No, Mother was – had been – an intelligent woman, and she had possessed her own talents. She would probably have known how to make a fire for herself, and with her talents as an archer would have been able to keep herself fed as well.

She fought back tears, shaking her head violently as though that would make the sadness go away, and set to work.

The shore they had washed up on was as good as anything likely to be close by, fairly dry despite its proximity to the river and with a steep rise behind it. There was even a little bit of an overhang of earth about twelve feet up which would provide some protection from wind and rain if the weather decided to take a turn for the worse.

For a wonder, there was plenty of fallen wood of about the right size to pile up in reserve, but no tools. There was no flint that she could recognize, and wasn't sure if any other types of rock or stone could be used to start a fire. With dismay, she suddenly remembered that her weapons – both the practice blade and the Cousland blade – were not lost to her, run off with the horses from that nest of…

'Monsters.'

She shuddered at the memory of the spiders, her mind shying away from them. She made herself concentrate on the matter at hand. If she managed to survive on her own, there would be time enough to worry about such things. Privately, though, she hoped that was the last time she had to deal with any such wretched creatures.

She gathered fir needles, leaves and twigs with hands that felt like they had come apart at the joints and gathered them into a large heap. Then, she settled herself down for the long task ahead.

"Starting a fire without tools is difficult," Duncan had warned her once when they stopped for the evening. "It takes time, patience and above all luck. Using some type of flint is more reliable and wastes less time than rubbing two sticks together, because if you don't know what you're doing or if you make the tools wrong, it could take hours to start a blaze, if you manage it at all. Those are hours that could be the crucial difference between surviving and freezing to death." He had passed her two pieces of wood that he had fashioned with a knife. "If there's no other recourse, though, it is your best chance. And as it gets easier every time you do it, I think you should practice it whenever we camp."

She had groaned. "What are the odds of being without proper tools, though? We carry them everywhere, and if you're planning a long expedition, aren't they the first things you take?"

"Remember Trevelyan's saying about plans?"

"The Makers laughs," Elissa sighed. "Fine. Although I still doubt I'm ever going to need to know this…"

'I wonder if Duncan has the Sight in his family,' she thought now as she crouched down several feet from the mage. 'Well, if the Maker isn't laughing, wherever he is, I bet Duncan is.' She paused to consider that, and added, almost in a prayer-like after tone, 'And I hope he's at least warm.'

Her fingers had gone numb and clumsy, and it was hard to make them work, both to fashion a crude fire board and spindle, and then to actually try to light it. It only took her about half a minute before she saw smoke rising the point where two pieces of wood rubbed against each other, but there was no tiny flare of colour or spark of heat to suggest any actual fire had emerged.

It took several frustrating attempts, much swearing and some frustrated tears before she finally managed to make a spark appear, and by then the sun had already started to dip beneath the horizon. Elissa was shaking, her bones feeling as though they were going to break apart beneath her skin, when she carefully placed the ember to the tinder she had gathered and blew.

Flames crackled, stuttering through the tinder, and after a few heart-stopping moments, caught solidly. For the first time since getting out of the river, Elissa breathed a sigh of relief. She hopped to her feet, seeking out more branches. Those that weren't too damp, she began to add to the growing flame, but the ones which were she stacked near it to allow them to dry.

Despite the trouble it had initially given her, the fire thrived. It grew, glowing and extremely comforting, and Elissa felt a momentary belief that everything was going to turn out all right. She hauled the mage over and placed her between the flame and the earthen wall, hoping the reflected heat would help speed up the warming process. Then, she set to work building another fire.

"You can get more heat out of a couple small fires than big ones," Duncan had explained to her, "because you can't get close enough to a huge blaze to benefit from it."

That had seemed counterintuitive. "What do you mean?"

"Did you ever take part in the harvest festival?"

"Of course. Father often hosted his own celebration for his vassals and the farmers," Elissa had answered.

"So you have seen a bonefire."

"Well, yes…"

"How close did anyone ever get to one?"

She had strained her memory back to happier times, and then remarked, "Close enough."

Duncan shook his head, and his tone was patient. "How long were you able to stand close to the fire before you had to move though?"

"A few seconds, maybe a minute or so," Elissa answered, and then she understood what he was trying to tell her. "Ah, I see. You can't sit by a bonfire long enough to really warm up."

"And if you're already half-frozen and you keep going from scorching heat to relative cold, you don't do yourself very many favours," Duncan finished. "Smaller fires, spread out around you aren't as intense and they capture warmth better."

That memory fresh in her mind, she soon had three small fires going. After the first one, the others took much easier. There were quite a few large, flat rocks around the flames and those that had been sufficiently heated up she brought over to put around the mage. With any luck, the light would attract Duncan and Garm.

'If they're nearby. If they got out of the river.'

She tried not to dwell on the other possibility.

'I really hope there are no bandits or wild animals going to come a-calling,' she thought miserably. As it stood she only had her bare hands to fight with, and they were so numb she worried they would fall off. 'Maybe she'll be of help when she wakes up.' She eyed the elven woman. 'If she wakes up.' She glared down at the lifeless woman, as though the entire situation was the mage's fault. 'She'd better wake up. If the only thing I get out of this disaster of a day is some answers, it's at least something.'

As the makeshift camp's warmth grew stronger, she peeled off the mage's wet clothing and boots, propping them up on sticks near the fire. She made sure the woman at least looked more comfortable, covering her with dry leaves to boost her temperature and stave off shock.

The little clearing already seemed much warmer than the surrounding trees, and Elissa shrugged out of her own sodden, chafing leather and peeled off the cloth linings that felt like they had frozen to her skin. She settled down beside the elven woman, who had finally begun to regain some warmth. By the time Elissa had nestled in next to her, the numbness in her joints began to fade and she was just miserably cold and hungry.

'It could still get worse,' she knew, glancing up at the sky. The sun was already low enough that streaks of pink sunset streamed across the horizon, obscured only by low clouds. 'If those get any lower, we could be in for rain. And at that point, I'll be sure the Maker's plotting against me.'

The various aches and pains from that day's trials began to register, and she finally took the time to examine them. Her skin was black and blue in some places, scraped raw in others courtesy of the submerged rocks, and she winced when she raised her fingers to her forehead and found that the scar had reopened.

"Damn it, it was almost healed, too," she grumbled, pressing her hand to her head. It wasn't as deep as the first time, but like any head wound, it had bled profusely. She would need to clean it and find a way to keep it closed.

She craned her neck to examine the various articles of clothing nearby, the only materials that were at her disposal, and paused as something flickered out of the corner of her eye. Something had caught the firelight, and she looked down to examine it.

The unconscious woman wore an amulet, shaped like a sunburst and hanging on a golden chain. It looked similar to something Elissa had seen Mother Mollal wear on occasion, except there was a strange filigree design woven into it that glowed with an eerie blue light. Elissa reached over to examine it, and was surprised that it made her fingers tingle just by its proximity. Before she could touch it, though, a dry voice stopped her.

"Don't."

She started, and noticed that the mage was watching her from half-lidded eyes.

"You woke up," Elissa said, relief colouring her tone and the amulet forgotten. "I didn't think you were going to."

"It'll take more than a dip in a river to take me out," the elf told her simply as she tucked the amulet into her breast band. She didn't appear the least perturbed at having been stripped of her clothing or by the fact that she was covered in dying leaves and moss.

"You do strike me as the stubborn type," Elissa answered, eyeing the red line across her throat warily.

"It takes one to know one, yeah?" the elven woman said, offering a grim smile. "My name is Neria."

"Elissa."

Neria started to sit up, grimaced in pain, and settled back again. She frowned accusingly at Elissa. "You broke my ribs."

"Would you rather have drowned?" she shot back, a prick of annoyance permeating the numbing cold and bleakness. She had saved the mage's life, and she was complaining about the manner in which it had occurred?

"I wouldn't have drowned."

"You certainly had me fooled, the way you were bobbing face down in the water like a cork."

They regarded each other warily for a long moment, and then Neria exhaled, yielding. She cast her gaze about, and then asked, "Where are the others?"

"I don't know," Elissa answered quietly. She moved away from the mage and busied herself with checking the fire. She didn't want the mage to see the despondency on her face. "I couldn't find them."

It seemed it laced her voice, though, because Neria croaked, "I wouldn't worry. Your friend seemed strong. I'm sure he managed to get himself out. The monstrous dog too."

Elissa glanced at her sideways. "How did you get separated, anyhow? When we jumped, Duncan was holding onto you."

"One of those crawlers that followed us over the bluff tried to latch on," the mage answered wearily. "I suppose it was trying to save itself, and in the process it was pulling us under. He – you said his name was Duncan?" – at Elissa's nod she continued, " – Duncan yelled at me to hold on while he dealt with it. I tried, but the next thing I knew, we smashed into a stone or something, and I couldn't keep my grip on him." She shook her head, a movement which appeared to cause her some pain, and then added, "I don't remember much after that."

"This is all my fault," Elissa groaned, letting her head fall into her hands, and then swearing when she jarred the stinging cut. "If I hadn't come up with the brilliant idea of taking a dip in the Drakon –"

"We'd have been trampled to death by spiders and then eaten at their leisure when they calmed down enough to realize they weren't in any danger," Neria finished matter-of-factly. Elissa blinked in surprise, having not expected the mage to defend Elissa's less-than-stellar decision. "Have you actually seen those things feed?"

"No."

"Well I have. I would rather be a bloated corpse washed up on the strand than be eaten by a crawler. Those things prefer to eat their prey when it's still alive, if you know what I mean." Elissa's empty stomach contracted, and she was unable to reply. Neria studied her carefully, and then commented, "When I get my strength back, I'll be able to heal. I can fix that cut of yours – or at least close it up properly."

Elissa shuddered at the idea of having magic cast on her. "I'll be fine."

"Not if it gets infected," Neria answered. "I'm surprised it didn't the first time. Who stitched that up for you, a seamstress?"

"A farmer's wife, actually."

Neria snorted. "I'd accuse you of joking, but something tells me you're serious." She hesitated, looking as if she wanted to say something else. Instead, she winced, a hand on her side, and asked, "Where did you learn to do this, anyhow?"

"Do what?" Elissa asked, sitting cross-legged by the fire. Now that the mage was awake, Elissa's wariness had returned. She didn't want to have her back to this strange woman, let alone be sitting right next to her. An unconscious mage was one thing – a conscious one entirely different. "Crack ribs?"

The mage rolled her eyes. "The only way I know to get someone to start breathing again requires magic."

"You don't grow up on the coast without learning how to care for someone half-drowned," Elissa answered. "I heard enough stories from the sailors back home to know what to do."

"And where's home?"

"That's unimportant," Elissa replied, cutting off the mage's attempt to interrogate her. "What is important, though, is why you've been following us. I doubt you just happened upon our predicament by accident, seeing as how you were in Lostwithiel just yesterday."

"I could have."

"But you didn't."

The mage leveled a stare at her. "No, I didn't."

"What do you want, then?"

"Your help, if you would give it."

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly in a position to offer help," Elissa answered, gesturing to the makeshift campsite. "I don't even have basic supplies any longer, let alone a weapon. And even if I had, what makes you think I would be able to help you?"

"You are a Grey Warden, are you not? Or at least, you travel with one," Neria's tone was evasive. Elissa's eyebrow rose. It would seem her first encounter with the mage had not been random. She wondered how long Neria had been following them. An eerie idea about the identity of the mysterious watcher began to form. "I have never heard that the Wardens go out of their way to avoid helping those in need."

"Not unless it directly interferes with stopping the Blight," Elissa said automatically, Duncan's words having become ingrained in her thoughts. A moment later, she regretted what she had said because of the spark of hope that appeared in Neria's eyes. Hastily, she added, "On a personal level, though, I'm wary of helping out apostates who have been stalking me for no apparent reason."

"Will you hear my request or not?"

Elissa remained quiet for a long moment, wishing more than ever that Duncan was there. He would have known how to handle this. It was hard to ignore a lifetime's worth of suspicion and distrust towards mages in favor of the Grey Warden's more liberal ideas.

'Stop acting like Elissa the Teryn's daughter and start acting like Elissa the Grey Warden. Or rather, Grey Warden in training,' she ordered herself as she added some more wood to the fires. Hearing the loud rush of the river in the background and in light of the absence of the man who had recruited her, she added, 'Hopefully.'

"I will hear you, but that doesn't mean I'm obliged to help you," she told Neria as diplomatically as she could. "My destiny is with the Grey Wardens, or it was before today. If Duncan still lives, I have to honor my agreement to join the Wardens. Even if he doesn't live, I have to get to Ostagar, if only to inform the Order of his death. I suppose they'll decide whether they want me or not."

"I have a feeling once you hear my story, you're going to want to help me," Neria told her.

"And why is that?"

"Because you want to know about the villagers and the bandits that were massacred."

Elissa stared.

"How did you – ?" she began, and then narrowed her eyes when the implications of the mage's words hit her. She suddenly remembered the sensation of being watched that had been dogging her in the last few days. Her resolution to be more diplomatic toward the mage all but vanished. "Just how long have you been stalking us, apostate?"

"I haven't been stalking you, I've been observing you," Neria said defensively. "And I'm going to explain all of that, if you just trust me for a moment."

"You're a mage. There's nothing to trust."

"Is that really what you think, or just what you were told all of your life by Chantry priests?"

"It's got nothing to do with the Chantry, it's just a fact. Mages are untrustworthy."

"Have you ever even met a mage?"

"Yes. She tried to kill me."

"I don't suppose it was because you are an incredibly frustrating person, was it?" Neria drawled.

Elissa glared. "You're not doing very much to change my opinion, apostate."

"Maybe you would be more open to a change of opinion if you didn't assume the worst all the time," the elf answered. "I'm hardly an apostate."

"Do my eyes deceive me, or are you not sitting right next to me, decidedly outside of the Circle?"

"Label me according to your Chantry's dogma if you will, it means nothing to me," the mage snapped. "My sins are between myself and the Creators, and I doubt they count escaping captivity as one of them."

This last bit of information was seemingly inconsequential, but it reminded her of the report of the Templars several days back. Was it possible she was speaking to one of the mages that had escaped the Circle of Magi? That thought made her even more cautious, especially given that one of the mages was supposed to have used blood magic to escape. She decided that pressing for more details would help her decide on a course of action.

'Not a lot I can do about a blood mage with no weapons.' She remembered the night of Howe's attack. "I suppose I could break her neck if I had to, but I think she'd see that coming…' Outwardly, she kept her expression neutral and pretended not to notice the elf's allusion to her past. "Creators?"

"You shemlens have your Maker, the elves have the Creators."

"I was under the impression that elves in Ferelden worshipped the same as the humans," Elissa observed casually, drawing on the conversation she had had with Iona – 'Just over a fortnight ago, really. It seems like months.'

"Flat ears, maybe." At Elissa's questioning look, she added, "The elves that reside in the cities. Dalish elves still keep to the old ways."

"If you say so," Elissa answered slowly. "Although you don't seem very Dalish to me."

Neria sniffed. "Have you ever met a Dalish elf?"

"No, but I've read enough about them to know you're not one," Elissa responded. "I don't see any of their odd markings, either. In fact, behind that nasal, holier-than-thou twang in your voice, you sound like you were born in a Highever back alley – and that is something I would definitely recognize, seeing as how most of my friends grew up in just such a manner." Neria looked as though she wanted to deny this, but a glint in her eyes told Elissa that she had hit the nail on the head. Elissa's eyes fell on the sunburst shaped bulge within the elf's breastband. "Furthermore, you're wearing a Chantry amulet. It's highly unlikely for a Dalish elf to have one of those."

Colour flooded otherwise pale cheeks. "That has nothing to do with my beliefs. This was a gift."

"I'm surprised you accepted it, then, given your suspicion of the Chantry."

Neria's unusual violet eyes sparked defensively. "It was all the giver had to offer. Possessions are hard to come by when you live in a prison."

"Oh, please. A prison? It can't have been that bad," Elissa quipped.

Neria's expression turned so cold that Elissa froze, suddenly feeling as though a chunk of ice had been placed against her spine.

"You mundanes think you know everything," the elf remarked acidly, looking at Elissa as though she couldn't fathom how inept she was. "Have you ever actually visited the Circle of Magi at Kinloch Hold? Or any Circle for that matter?"

"Of course not," Elissa answered. She vaguely recalled how as a child, curious about magic and mages, she had asked her father if she might visit the Circle tower and had been given such a reproving answer that she had never asked again. As she grew older and Mother Mallol's teachings set in – Elissa's knees once again ached at the memory – she had understood why it would be a bad idea.

Right now, though, she wished she had pursued the matter, if only to have enough knowledge about the place that she could have felt more confident defending her view to the apostate.

Neria gave her a twisted smile, her eyes knowing. "I'm sure that on paper the Circle institution looks pristine to one of your kind, but in reality it's quite different, I promise you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She tried to lessen the indignation in her tone, but the elven woman's air of superiority and knowingness was grating on her. She might have been able to ignore it ordinarily, but the day's events had pushed her tolerance to an all-time low.

Neria met her gaze solidly, seemingly unfazed by the snap in Elissa's voice, as though she was used to it. Then, she said in a cool tone, "Let me ask you a question, Warden –"

"I'm not a Warden yet," Elissa blurted. Her irritation was making her less cautious with her words, and she had to check herself. 'Not that it matters. The way things are looking at the moment, I'll never be a Warden. Especially not if the one who recruited me drowned because of one of my harebrained ideas.'

The first thought itself was unpleasant enough, made all the worse by the second.

"It doesn't matter if you are or are not," Neria told her curtly, seemingly unaware of Elissa's frame of mind. "My question remains the same. What stories were you told about the Circle and magic when you were a child? For that matter, what did your priests tell you?"

Elissa made a face and then answered. "The Circles were created to protect mages just as much as to protect normal people." She leveled a challenging look at Neria. "If they were truly terrible places, the Chantry wouldn't keep them in operation. The Maker doesn't want his children to suffer."

"Drivel," Neria stated contemptuously.

"I suppose you're going to tell me that the Chantry is evil and that the Templars who serve are lunatics with an unfounded grudge against mages, then?" Elissa retorted, crossing her arms defiantly.

"Of course not!" Neria snapped. Something odd flickered in her eyes, and she said in a softer voice, "Some…a small few actually believe they are doing right. That they are protecting everyone." The odd look disappeared again, replaced with hardness. "But for the rest of those who guard the Circle, it is as if they sacrifice their own humanity when they enter the tower. And then you get men like Ser Piers, who have served the Chantry for so long that they no longer understand what humanity is, let alone consciously sacrifice it."

"Ser Piers?" Elissa repeated, the name jogging a memory. "The one sent from the Circle to hunt apostates?" Her eyes widened in realization, putting together the report of the Templars in the forest with what the one in Lostwithiel had said. "He was hunting you, wasn't he?"

"And he found me," Neria told her grimly, ruefully rubbing the red line across her throat. "Luckily it was one of his subordinates who got to me first, or I would be short a head at the moment."

Elissa inched backward, eyeing the elf with distrust. She was beginning to regret having saved her. "Only someone tampering with dark magic could have survived a wound like that. Someone who could use blood magic."

"Blood magic?" the woman echoed. "Who said anything about blood magic?"

"Don't play stupid," Elissa hissed. "I know about the escape from the Circle of Magi. The Templars said there was a mage who got out using blood magic, and that four others escaped as well. How else could you escape the Circle without falling upon dark arts?"

To her surprise, the elf groaned and rolled her eyes. "Of course the idiots would get it wrong. Honestly, everything that's not taken from their precious texts and lore, they say is blood magic." She fixed Elissa with a wry look. "I'm not a blood mage. I did escape from the tower. But not through any nefarious method." When Elissa continued to look suspicious, she amended, "Although I suppose that definition is rather relative to who's giving it. Turning Ser Piers into a statue might be considered nefarious…"

"You turned him into a statue?"

"And he had my throat slit. He more than avenged himself, I would say."

Elissa refused to relax. "How did you survive without using blood magic?"

"It's…complicated."

"I'm sure it is."

Neria threw her a dirty look. "I have never used blood magic in my life. Not that you're the first person to accuse me of it. I was locked up in the Circle dungeons for helping a friend who happened to be dabbling in it, and they automatically assumed I was complicit."

"Did you know?"

"Know what?"

"Did you know your friend was a blood mage?"

"Of course not!" Neria shot back. "He never told me about it, and if the matter hadn't been forced, I never would have found out."

"Oh?"

"If you're a blood mage living in a Circle tower, you're not about to advertise it to anyone," Neria explained. "Too many people are trying to muscle their way to the top of the food-chain. It would be suicide to even allude to such a thing."

She sounded so passionate about the matter that Elissa believed her. She changed tactics. "What were you helping him do?"

"Escape from the tower," the mage answered with a straight face. Elissa simply raised an eyebrow, and the elf continued, "He wanted out for his reasons, and I wanted out for mine. I figured if I could successfully help him get out, I might be able to do the same when the time came."

"If you had known he was a blood mage, would you have still helped him?"

"…Yes."

"What? Why?"

"Because all he wanted was freedom to be with the woman he loved, and he couldn't do it in the Circle."

"But that doesn't change the fact that blood magic is evil! The Chantry says that it invites demons –"

"The Chantry says much," Neria said dismissively. "I'll grant that blood magic isn't the best incarnation of magic – but it's like all magic. Dangerous in the wrong hands, but in others it can mean the difference between life or death."

"You're right about the death."

Neria leveled a cool gaze at her. "You're very high-minded about situations you can only imagine. Decisions are rarely cut and dried, you know. There could very well be a time when blood magic can save your life or someone you love."

"There's always a choice."

"Are you saying if someone you cared about deeply was in danger, and the only conceivable way to save them was through blood magic, you still wouldn't?"

Elissa paused, momentarily stricken. Given the choice to save her family from the fate they had suffered, would she have hesitated? The image of her parents and of Oriana and Oren alive again was tempting, and drew a lump into her throat. But then the idea of their faces when they discovered what she had done to save them…imagining Mother's alone was enough to make her shudder. "No. Who am I to make a decision to offer someone's life to replace another's?"

Neria looked half-way between exasperated and impressed. "What if the person whose life you were sacrificing truly deserved it? Be honest. If the choice was between someone you loved and someone who had – I don't know, murdered dozens of people and showed absolutely no remorse for the act – would you?"

Howe's image flashed in her mind, and Elissa forced back feelings of revulsion, but in this case it was directed at herself, because her immediate thought had been that she would sacrifice Howe for her family in a heartbeat.

Elissa's silence must have spoken more than anything she said could have, because Neria nodded approvingly.

"You see? Nothing is simple. The world is too covered in shades of grey for there to be absolute truths, which makes absolute law such as the Chantry's rather inadequate, don't you think?"

"Now you're lawyering," Elissa responded sourly. "Exaggerating too, by the sound of it."

"Do you imagine the tower is some kind of haven run by well-meaning priests?" Neria demanded. "Perhaps you think that my fellow mages and I are ungrateful or selfish for not appreciating the measures put in place for protection's sake."

Angry colour was flushing her cheeks. "I'll let you in on a few things they don't tell outsiders. Like how the Templars are always watching us because they're convinced that we're conspiring to summon demons every waking moment. The most a mage in the Circle might be guilty of is trying to live like a normal person. We are treated like children, not permitted to go anywhere without an escort or walk the halls past a certain time. Did you know about the long periods of silence they force upon us, or the prayers that are barely more than self-flagellations? I bet they don't tell you about the amount of rapes that take place there, either."

Elissa's eyes widened and fury at the implication helped her unlock her jaw. "Templars take vows, they wouldn't –"

"Templars are still human, are they not?" Neria shot back, cutting her off. "A friend of mine was forced by a Templar not six months ago, and she'd barely started her monthlies. The bastard told her all the while he was violating her that it was her own fault – that the curse of magic had brought it down on her; that if she hadn't been born with magic, she wouldn't be suffering." She clenched her fists, obviously reliving something very unpleasant. "When the Knight-Commander found out about it, all he did was berate the man responsible about how he had brought shame to the Templars, and then he sent him away."

"What?" Elissa exclaimed. "But…the punishment for rape is a hanging sentence! Or at the very least, castration."

Unlike in other parts of Thedas, Ferelden treated the crime of rape seriously. It was a recent development, but stemmed from a time when the kingdom had been occupied by Orlais. The chevaliers, the Orlesian knighthood which had patrolled the territory to enforce the Usurper's laws and collect heavy taxes from the freeholders, were notorious rapists, forcing not only women and children, but men as well. It was said that during a surprise raid on their camp, the rebel queen Moira Theirin was separated from her followers, and an inept chevalier that was unaware of her identity tried to take advantage of her. At the last moment, she was able to free herself and castrated him with his own sword. The memory of the event must have stayed with her, because she began to draft a law regarding the crime, one which would be enacted when her son Maric ascended the throne.

"Everywhere in Ferelden except the Circle and the Alienages," Neria answered bitterly. Elissa winced, knowing there was at least some truth to the latter. According to what Mithra had always told her, most elven women didn't even report such incidents for fear of repudiation.

"I take it…you grew up in Highever's Alienage, then?" she asked.

"You don't grow up in an Alienage, you just try to survive," Neria corrected her. "I was born there, sure, but I didn't have any type of childhood. I don't remember my family, because the sweating sickness took them when I was barely out of swaddling clothes. The other street rats were my only family, until it came out that I was a mage, and then I was locked away for it." She shrugged. "I figure if I didn't have as much of a temper as I do, I might have lasted long enough to strike out on my own, but it wasn't meant to be. Some guttersnipe pile of rat droppings tried to steal the only thing I owned and ended up on the business end of a lightning bolt."

Elissa made a derisive noise. "You sound very broken up about that."

"The man was a bastard, and besides, it was an accident," Neria retorted. "I actually intended to set him on fire."

Elissa groaned. "Yes, that makes it so much better."

"Either way, the next thing you know, I'm being hauled across that damned lake with a Templar on either side of me and my freedom dwindling far behind. They left me in a cell for a week before they brought me up to the tower – they do that, you see, so that they can break your spirit before you even get through the door. They think it'll make you more docile. It just made me even more determined to get out."

"So you planned to escape, then?"

"I didn't plan anything at that point. My entire life was suddenly uprooted and I didn't know why. I had to relearn the rules before I could go about breaking them," Neria explained. "That took a while. I didn't have a lot of guidance, and what little was offered to me I ignored in the beginning. Which in retrospect, was rather stupid of me." She smiled ruefully. "It's not just the Templars that make life in a Circle miserable. The longer you're in a place like that, the more determined you become to claw some small corner of existence for yourself. Senior mages, even senior apprentices, will abuse a newcomer mercilessly, just to prove their 'superiority'. If you're unclaimed, it's all the worse for you."

"Unclaimed?"

"Most mages that come to the Circle are so young, they don't know anything about themselves or their families. Or, in my case, they never had them to begin with," Neria explained. "Sometimes older mages will claim newcomers, especially if they're really young. They offer them guidance and protection. They help them cope with their new situation. I didn't have anyone like that until I was eleven, and she…didn't last very long." There was another hard look in Neria's eyes before she continued. "An elven mage took me under her wing and taught me the skills of a shapeshifter. She told me about the Dalish, and how they lived free from the thumb of shemlens and the Chantry – even the mages. For two years, she was the only family I knew and the only bright spot in an otherwise mind-numbing life."

Unexpectedly finding herself interested in the tale, Elissa asked, "What happened to her?"

Neria's expression became closed. "She died. It doesn't matter how – " she added when Elissa opened her mouth to ask, " – the point is that she did. And I was alone again." She sighed. "I took her name as my own so that no one would forget her or why she died, and that's when I began to think about how to leave the Circle. Soon after, the First-Enchanter decided I had some potential as a healer and began to teach me. I cultivated that relationship, hoping that once I became a recognized mage I would be sent on an assignment outside of the Circle. I would be able to escape then," Neria explained with a grim smile. "I'm pretty sure he knew what I thought, and if circumstances hadn't changed, he never had any intention of allowing me out of the Circle."

"What circumstances?"

"I'm getting to that."

"As interesting as all of this is, I don't see how it's relevant to – "

"It's extremely relevant, because it's part of the reason that I'm here," Neria retorted irritably. "Do you want to hear the story or not?"

Elissa was tempted to say she didn't care one way or another, but her stomach was beginning to complain and the temperature had dropped. In truth, the mage's account was at least keeping her mind off of their less than stellar position.

"Please, continue," she finally said.

"I'm so glad to have your Highness's approval," Neria deadpanned.

It was on Elissa's tongue to correct her with respect the title, but she held back. 'That doesn't matter anymore.'

"I didn't have anyone until I was sixteen. That's when the Templars brought Alim to the Circle," Neria explained after giving Elissa a considering glance. "He was about twelve and had been found wandering around at the foot of the Frostbacks with no memory of how he got there. Or much else, for that matter. The merchants who found him handed him over to the Templars when they saw him use magic. Everyone was sure that he was Dalish, mostly because on the few occasions that he did speak, half of the words he threw into his sentences were elvish. The First Enchanter believed he might have been a Dalish keeper's apprentice, but no one knows for sure. Either way, he thought it would be a good idea for me to look out for him, and I did. I remembered what it had been like for me, and looking at Alim…" Neria's face fell, and she murmured, almost to herself. "He had a childlike innocence that I didn't want to see broken. I had to protect that."

Elissa felt a pang, the faces of her own brothers appearing in her mind. She missed them both, and the constant fear that Howe might have sent assassins to completely eradicate the Cousland line was something that kept her awake at night.

It felt odd to sympathize with a mage, though.

"It made certain decisions easier," Neria went on. "Like helping my friend escape the tower, even though that resulted in my own captivity. I was locked in the dungeon right away, and for the first few nights the Templars on guard would mock me and threaten me with various punishments. They told me I was going to be sent to Aenor, or other things."

"Aenor?"

"The mage's prison," Neria clarified. "Frightening enough, but at the time, all I cared about was my brother and who was going to look out for him when I was gone. Imagine my surprise when one night, he appeared outside my cell door with two friends and told me they were breaking me out."

"They weren't caught by the Templars?" Elissa asked.

"They might have run into one or too," Neria said, and a cruel smile appeared on her face, "but my friend Solona always was rather good at Entropy spells. I bet the poor sods are still out cold."

Elissa shivered. "You sound rather cavalier about that."

"I wasn't at the time," Neria assured her. "I actually tried to talk them out of it. I didn't want Alim to get in trouble on my account, because if he was caught his fate would be the same as mine. But he was adamant." She shrugged. "That was enough for me. He rarely asserted himself over anything, and this was important to him."

"It sounds like it was an easy decision."

"Not really. The threat of death and suffering hanging over your head makes even the simplest decisions tricky," the mage responded. "Once it was made, though, I didn't want anything to jeopardize it. I sent the others on ahead while I sought out their phylacteries."

"Phylacteries?"

"Vials filled with a mage's blood. The Templars take blood from us when we arrive in the Circle so that they can track us down if we ever escape," Neria explained. "I knew where they were stored because I had already helped my friend destroy his. If I had my time back, I never would have done it."

"Why?"

"Because if I had just gone with the others, a lot of people would have been spared the wrath of Ser Piers," Neria answered, and for the first time that night, Elissa saw remorse flood the mage's features. "Oh, I'm sure the Templars would have hunted us no matter, but a lot of innocent people would still be alive."

Elissa tensed. "Are you saying that Ser Piers really did kill those people?"

Neria's eyes met her own. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

"That makes no sense though," Elissa cried in disbelief. "Even if he hated mages, that wouldn't account for killing a random hamlet of people.

"It's more than just hatred of mages and a prerogative to hunt us down which led to Piers' behaviour," Neria told her. "Before I made it to the phylactery storage chamber, I came upon a…well, an artifact."

"…An artifact?"

"I'm not sure how to describe it without sounding a little mad."

"I already think you're mad."

"That's comforting," Neria groaned. Elissa motioned for her to continue, which she did after a weary sigh. "There's a statue in the basement of the Circle that houses the spirit of a Tevinter – or so she said she was."

Elissa stared. "The statue…said?"

"I was a little wary when we found her the first time, when I was helping my friend escape," Neria allowed. "Still, you don't live around magic your entire life without adapting to such strange things. The second time she spoke was a little less surprising."

"And what did the, er, statue, say?"

Neria appeared to sober. "She made some rather interesting predictions. Some were just general tidings, but others…" The elf shook her head. "I'm not sure if I believe them, but Ser Piers does. He discovered my brother's and our friends' absence and correctly assumed they had come to find me. Instead of finding them, though, he heard the last few prophecies the seer's spirit had to share."

"What were they?" Elissa wanted to know.

Neria shook her head. "Too many have died on the off chance that I spoke to them about what I heard. I don't want another death on my hands. I will tell you that it's something he doesn't want anyone else to know. He tried to kill me right there in the basement, but I was so determined to get out of there I lashed out. Maybe I drew inspiration from the stone seer, because I turned him into a statue and kept running."

"How did he survive that?"

"I didn't kill him, I simply altered his basic state," Neria explained. "As long as someone reverses the magic, being turned into a statue isn't really deadly. Of course, it didn't occur to me until a few days later, after Alim and I went our separate ways from the others, that someone might undo the spell. I didn't even know he was after us until he caught up to us in Lothering."

"Is that where…?" Elissa indicated to the dark line across Neria's neck.

"Yes. Ser Piers and the others drained our magic and were going to kill us. As much pain as we were in, Alim and I weren't going to give in without a fight, and we went for the Templars with our bare hands. In the scuffle, Alim managed to escape, thank the Creators. I nearly lost my head to a Templar's blade. I must have moved at exactly the right moment, because he only managed to slit my throat."

"Only?" Elissa inquired, impressed despite herself. "How do you survive that?"

"I think the fall off the ruins of the wall contributed, seeing as it kept them from finishing the job," Neria mused lightly, but upon seeing that Elissa was serious, she sobered. "It was a close thing. I was choking to death and losing a lot of blood, and they had drained my mana. I really thought that I was going to die. But then…" Here, the mage drew out the amulet from her breast band and held it up to Elissa. The odd blue markings glinted in the firelight. "Do you know anything about lyrium?"

Elissa shook her head.

"It's a raw material that mages use," Neria clarified. "It's like…magic solidified into stone. Very powerful, and very dangerous – so much so that mages only use it in very small increments. In its raw form, it can seriously injure or even kill a person, especially a mage, but when it's been properly refined, it can be worked into runic enchantments or replenishing potions to give someone back their strength."

The elf indicated to the charm's odd markings.

"This amulet's been enchanted and laced with lyrium with the express purpose of boosting mana in case of…an emergency. I doubt my use of it was what its creator had in mind, but I'm grateful all the same. I tapped all of it, and it gave me enough strength to heal myself and get away. By sheer dumb luck, the Templars didn't find me. Either they thought I was dead from the wound or the fall, or they just didn't bother looking, I don't know."

"Maybe they were more preoccupied with trying to find your brother."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Neria answered.

"Just what did you hear that made Ser Piers hunt you down, though?" Elissa asked. "The impression I always got was that killing apostates is a last resort – or that it's discouraged except as a last resort." She frowned. "The only thing I can see a Templar wanting to defend against all odds would have to do with their faith.

"I'm still not telling you what he heard, but that's a good guess. Pretty accurate, too," Neria granted. "As far as I can figure, Ser Piers intends to silence anyone who I have come in contact with, who I might have told. It's why he killed those villagers. They took us in while we were on the run, and were nothing but hospitable. They didn't ask questions, and we didn't tell them anything. But that didn't stop Ser Piers from killing them. And those bandits that we narrowly escaped. Every place we stopped where we might have spoken to someone, he's come in with his righteous fury and proceeded to purge it. Or cleanse it, as I suppose he believes."

"If they were following you, how did you find out what was happening?" Elissa inquired.

"I didn't find out until I started looking for you and found the bodies and wreckages on my way back. It never occurred to me that it was him that had done I until I heard your theory about Templars. And then I knew."

"Which brings me back to my first question – why were you looking for me?"

"I sought you out because the old shem told me you would help me."

The word triggered a memory. "Old…shem? An old human told you I would help you? You don't look like the type to trust anyone, let alone a human."

"I wouldn't, normally, but things are different when you dream."

"…Dream?" Elissa repeated. "First a talking statue, and now a dream – do you take me for a fool?"

"Look, I know how it sounds, and I can imagine how odd it must seem to someone who isn't used to magic, but you must believe me," Neria implored. "After all, why else would I try to find a complete stranger, and a shemlen at that?"

Elissa opened her mouth to retort, and found that she couldn't come up with any other plausible reason. "Fine."

"It was after the incident in Lothering. Even though I survived the encounter and managed to heal myself, I was still weak. I lapsed in and out of consciousness for a day, and when I slept I dreamed," Neria recounted. "I dreamed that I was walking along a road shadowed with trees, and I came upon this woman. She looked like any other person, except she had a burn or a brand across her face." Elissa's ears perked up at this. "She spoke to me in Elvish, and it wasn't just the few words that the elves still retain, but a whole language as it was meant to be spoken. It was the work of the Creators, I'm sure, because I understood her as easily as if she were speaking the King's tongue. She told me that I would need the help of one who was not a mage if I was to face the Templars, and that there was a woman traveling south who would be able to give me aid. She said I would recognize you by the mark on your face and that you would be the one to help me find Alim."

Elissa held up a hand. "Hold on – face the Templars? What Templars?" Her eyes widened with suspicion. "You don't mean…?"

Neria nodded. "Yes, the ones whose handiwork you and your friend keep finding. They – "

"Are you mad?" Elissa exclaimed, jumping to her feet and staring down at the mage as though she was one of the giant spiders from earlier that day. "I'm not going to go up against a Templar! Even if I didn't agree with what they stand for – which I do, by the way – I'm nowhere near strong enough! And that's just against one – your dream human implied I could stand against a bunch of them? A bunch, may I add, who have apparently left their sanity back in Kinloch Hold so that they could go on a murdering spree?"

"I don't pretend to understand any of this," Neria replied. "All I know is that the Creators, or this woman who speaks on their behalf, believes you can do it. I was desperate enough to seek you out, and I only had the barest hope of actually finding you. When I did…" The mage's expression turned more stubborn. "I think the shemlen might have a good reason to think you capable, based on what I've seen of you. I'm not sure about facing down Ser Piers, but I believe you are instrumental somehow."

"If you wanted help with this so badly, why didn't you just ask me like a normal person yesterday, instead of trying to haul me off and then disappearing into the crowd?" Elissa asked. "We wouldn't be in this mess, and furthermore Duncan could have been a help." Another pang at the thought of Duncan, but she pushed it away. "Granted, I'm sure he would have been hard to convince because he really wanted to make it to Ostagar, but I'm sure he could have been reasoned with – "

"The Warden was not mentioned by the woman, you were," Neria maintained stubbornly. "I've been deceived by your kind enough times to want to keep my interactions with them to a minimum."

"That's no account for being careless," Elissa grumbled, reaching for her leathers. They were still dampened, but if she were going to get away from this crazed mage, she didn't want to be wandering around the riverbanks and forest in her smallclothes. "And even if I did, I still wouldn't help you. I told you I would listen to your tale, and I have done just that. I wish I hadn't."

"Exactly where do you think you're going?" Neria demanded, hauling herself up as well. She groaned in pain, obviously not able heal just yet.

'Good,' Elissa thought. 'That means no magic, and if she tries anything, I can take her down.'

"I'm going to search for a sign of the others, and if I don't find them I'm going to go to Ostagar," Elissa replied.

"And how do you propose to do that without a map?"

"I can follow the river east. Eventually it will lead me to a settlement where I can get a map," Elissa returned. "And if I don't find one, I can always return to Lostwithiel to get my bearings."

"You seem to have a lot of faith in your ability to navigate this area," Neria commented. "An awful lot for a highborn lady who has probably never been on her own." Elissa threw a surprised and angry look at her. "I can tell a lot about people too. You sound a lot like the nobles who used to slum in the Alienage, with your clipped and proper words – and besides, I observed enough of your camp behaviour when you were traveling with your friend to see you're not exactly an expert."

Elissa put her hands on her hips. "What's your point?"

"My point is, you shouldn't make any hasty decisions either," Neria answered. "From where I'm standing, you have a few options to consider, whether you want to help me or not. One, you could stay here and wait for a sign of your friends if they survived. If they didn't, you'd be wasting an awful lot of your time. Two, you could return to where we took our rather unfortunate swim this afternoon and wait for your companions there, but that's an iffy option, because they could be dead or the spiders could return."

Elissa shuddered.

"You could, as you said, travel to Ostagar, but I'll remind you of by doubts about your ability to actually navigate," Neria continued. "I, on the other hand, am excellent at navigating, not least because of my wonderful sense of direction."

"And where did you gain this expertise?" Elissa grumbled hotly, annoyed at the mage's words but knowing that at least in relation to her sense of direction, they were true. Without a map, she was sure to become lost. One could only follow a river so far before natural obstacles made detours necessary.

"I am able to get a birds' eye view of the world," Neria told her. "I can help you get to where you want to go."

Elissa knew what was coming. "But you want me to help you find your brother and the Templars."

The mage smirked. "Nothing in life is free."

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

_I'd like to specifically thank:_

**Kor-Mavwin**: I'm enjoying coming up with the different adventures and experience the character gets to have. The problem with the game is that it's so straight forward it suggests that things just go off without a hitch, but in a real adventure story that's almost never the case, which is what I'm really trying to show here. I've never actually written a mystery-style story before, so this is a big challenge. I hope I can tie it all together properly. I can't wait to write Elissa's interactions with Morrigan and Sten either, although the latter will have to wait until the next installment. One of my betas brought up the possibility of Elissa trying to convince Sten to teach her two-handed sword techniques…I laughed, and laughed, but the truth was I was actually considering a scene like that. We'll see about that when the time comes…anyhow, as usual, thanks for the reviews and your interest.

**graydevilforever**: I always thought that the time between Highever and Ostagar should have something meaningfully happen, because in the game when you get to Highever the PC seems so blasé about what's happened, so I always figured there must have been a decent amount of time pass. The slight AU element is meant to be in keeping with the game developer's vagueness and allude to the fact that in the canon timeline, the next ten years are pretty eventful. I intend to one day write a fic-series on what happens in Ferelden during the ten years after the Blight while the events of DA:II are going on and prior to the implied disappearance of the Hero of Ferelden, so I'm trying to plant the seeds early enough that when I do (hopefully) write it I can use characters and situations that my readers are more or less familiar with. This particular series (which has no official name yet because I can't think up a good one lol) will not have in-depth origin stories of the other PCs, but I am considering writing side fcs (time permitting, of course). And Alistair…ah, my dear lovely Alistair who I wish was real and could marry but isn't. I am going to have so much fun writing him as he is my favorite character as well, so I hope I live up to your expectations in characterizing both him and Morrigan (my second favorite, for all her bitchy bluntness). As for a love interest…well, maybe not this installment, but I am definitely considering someone in the future. I can tell you this: it's a long-term venture, because remember, Elissa's never actually fallen for anyone, so it will take her a while to a) accept it b) do something about it and c)maintain it. I look forward to her romantic foibles (insert evil author laugh here). Thanks for your comments, and I hope you keep reading!

**beginnerwriter0321**: One does get tired of the perfect Warden who runs screaming at a horde of ogres and manages to take them all out with no more than a chipped manicure. Or the Warden who is the epitome of a rebellious, flawless and beautiful leader that people just fall on their knees to follow. I figured it was especially unlikely for anyone to actually follow a noble-born teenager who had never seen any kind of strife. Even if she might possess some latent natural talent, she'd have to develop it first. It's good to know that I'm able to convey that message to the readers. Thanks for reading and reviewing.

**mille libri**: I'm glad you liked the addition of Aedan. Originally, he was just going to be a filler character for this fic, but I decided that I might use him somewhere else as well…and then that opened up the venue of how I could incorporate the other Origins in various cameos (excepting the ones who definitely died without Duncan's intervention). I'm also very happy you enjoy the fight scenes, because they take me the longest to do. I'm not great with describing action and I often have to rewrite them because my beta tells me they make no sense. Thanks for the heads up on typos and homonyms, I'll try to keep a look out for those, as well as the dreaded adverbs. You're not the first person to tell me I rely on them too much, but they're so tempting! They're like chocolate ^_^. As soon as I'm not working on school stuff, I'll reread the fic from the beginning and fix whatever I can find. It's easier to see mistakes when you haven't looked at a chapter in a long time. Regarding the pacing of the story, it's supposed to be slow. I'm trying to convey the journey to Ostagar, because in the game there's no mention of what happened in between, or the time spent getting to know Duncan; the game makes it seem like the PC meets Duncan and them bam, he dies and suddenly the Warden is sad about it without any evidence that they actually got to know one another. And if you go by the distance chart over at the Warden's Vigil online rpg, there's enough time spent travelling that something can happen. I fully intend to finish this fic. There will be twenty chapters, give or take an epilogue/afterword, and I already have the last five written, simply waiting to have details and such put in from the middle chapters. I hope the next few chapters have a little more action to keep your interest, though. Thanks for your feedback! It came out of nowhere and reminded me I've left this fic longer than I wanted to!

**Decode**: Thanks! I really enjoy coming up with the plot! Hopefully, I can get the next chapter up faster than this one!


	11. Chapter Eleven

**_Battle Maiden_**  
><em>by ErtheChilde<em>

_**"My father once told me that adventure is just someone else knee-deep in shite far from home. Maker, but I wish I had listened to him."**_

* * *

><p>Chapter Eleven:<p>

_"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" Duncan murmured._

_"Of course you are, boy," his father said matter-of-factly, his deep voice reassuring. "Now, come sit down. Your mother's been slaving away in the kitchen all morning."_

_The small sitting room was just as it had been all Duncan's childhood, down to the lovingly crafted Orlesian-style lacquered cabinets and the hand-woven coverings his mother had made. Unlike his father's shop below, which was filled to bursting with the various pieces that customers had commissioned, the family living area was rather sparse in comparison. It was spring, from the look of the rosebush outside the window, and the state of the carefully tended herbs on the sill. His mother had herbs everywhere, whether they were at home or down in his father's shop. It was a gray, rainy day whose dampness was not yet completely eradicated by the roaring fire in the grate. It even smelled the same: wood polish and silk-woven sachets of sweet-smelling herbs. The smell of lamb and roasted nuts wafted in from the kitchen._

_It was everything he remembered, except it wasn't._

_Beyond these sights he found so familiar, he could also see alien ones. Through the wide door that should have led into his own small room, he could make out twists in distant landscape, disconnected walls and doors that led nowhere in particular. In the midst of these, he could see the teaming streets of Val Royaux. Beyond that he could see the shape of a city, barely more than shadow and wisps to his eyes, but making him shudder all the same._

_There was a sound coming from somewhere, but he couldn't identify where. It sounded like a low, drowning moan that was simultaneously infused with joy and longing. The sound almost conveyed movement, a dull rhythm and vibration like the echo of thousands of hammer falls._

_"Duncan?"_

_He slowly looked back at his father, trying to ignore the hum as unnatural light filtered in from all directions. His vision blurred, and he squinted, hoping to bring his father's shape into better focus. After a concerted effort, details returned._

_His father was as he had been mere hours before he had been murdered, dressed in the usual large sawdust covered smock and wiping his permanently paint-streaked hands on a cloth. He was pale skinned, except when effort or anger flushed his cheeks with colour, and his long dark hair was pulled back the same way that Duncan always wore his. Arryn's eyes flicked critically over Duncan, as they always had in life, but he didn't say anything about the heavy armour or the dirt and dried spider's blood that caked his son's fingernails and bracers. With the curious logic of dreams, Duncan's appearance which should have looked out of place in his mother's carefully maintained, dainty sitting area, did not._

_Neither did the scarred woman sitting across from him, her blue and brown eyes sparkling. She looked even less fit for the sitting room, in a white shift that looked like it had recently caught on fire and with smudges of ash across her arms. There were bruises and welts across her bare arms and legs that made him think she had been tortured. She smiled at him as she sipped from a blood encrusted silver chalice._

_Why did she have the Joining Chalice?_

_Duncan's thoughts rippled along their seams, and the cadence of the hammering invaded his mind._

_"Do I know you?" he asked, fighting back the overwhelming drone. He felt recognition for the woman, and yet it completely escaped identification._

_"We've never actually met," she told him softly, placing the chalice carefully on the well-polished end table. His eyes lingered on it. "Forgive me for intruding, but this is the only way I could get your attention. The song drowns me out, you see?"_

_He opened his mouth to reply, but his senses flooded again with a loud, haunting hum. It seemed to move his entire body, and yet he was still standing in the sitting room._

_"Who are you?" he asked, but at that moment his mother walked into the room, bearing a tray of cakes and pastries. The familiar aroma made his mouth water, and his eyes begin to tear at the memory. It had been decades._

_His mother Tayana also looked exactly as he remembered, her wiry black hair falling to her shoulders and her almond-shaped eyes fixed on him with the same loving look. She wore thick rings of gold in her earlobes, but they were her only jewelry. Like him, she was dark-skinned, but where Duncan was tall and muscular like his father, she was more petite._

_Duncan felt a painful lump at the back of his throat. "But…you are dead…"_

_"Of course I am dead, but that's no excuse to forget your manners," his mother answered with a smile._

_"Traveling across the country for the Grey Wardens doesn't mean you aren't old enough for me to turn you over my knee," his father put in._

_Nothing made sense. He glanced from his mother to his father, uncomprehending. "Are you…really…?"_

_"Your parents?" the woman who looked like Tayana answered warmly. "Let me put it this way: we are as real as every memory you have of them."_

_He blinked at these words, and then decided that somehow they made perfect sense. Nodding, Duncan slowly sat down, gazing from his parents back to the scarred stranger. It irked him that she felt familiar, and yet he couldn't remember having ever met her before in his life._

_"Try to concentrate," she told him kindly. "There isn't much time left."_

_The world flickered and spun, shifting from his family's sitting room to some dark, filthy tunnel. All around him, there were shapes moving in a frenzied yet methodical way. Just as suddenly, he heard his father speak and the world righted itself._

_"You're certain this is necessary, then?" Arryn asked brusquely, crossing his thick arms across his apron. The question was addressed to the woman. "The costs vastly outweigh the benefits, from where I'm standing."_

_"The immediate benefits, perhaps," the woman said easily. "But I see potential advantages in this course, and to be certain, your son is one of my charges. Just as the girl is. Despite her past doings, she falls under my protection, and I will use whatever tools I can to help her." She raised an eyebrow at Duncan's mother. "That goes for the others as well, if they live long enough."_

_The world shifted again and out of the darkness, there was suddenly a light – but not anything comforting from a flame or from the sun. Beside him – or perhaps within him – there was a low, purring growl that pulled at him, drawing from every drop of his blood and sense of awareness. He felt cold, but his body was burning, almost as though it was one fire._

_"That is an awful big 'if'," his mother was saying as his surroundings melted into the sitting room. Her brow was wrinkled as it always had when she was worried._

_"Times are uncertain all over, not just in Thedas," the stranger answered, and there was a meaningful undertone in her words that made Duncan sure that she was referring to something specific. Whatever it was, he didn't know, but his parents appeared to understand the hint. The scarred woman continued, "Change is coming, and only those of a certain character will successfully navigate it."_

_"If the girl is the one you've chosen, surely you can simply have one of your other 'tools' make sure she stays on the right course," Duncan's father protested. "You're meddling in matters that none but the Maker ought to control. And you're involving our son."_

_The ghostly score continued to play in the background, a chorus of insistent sound that tore at him in waves that were equal amounts pain and pleasure. He wanted it to stop, but at the same time the thought of not hearing it any longer was terrifying._

_"Your son has been involved far longer than you think," the stranger maintained. "Long before he drank of darkspawn blood." His mother paled at the mention of this. "And who is to say this isn't exactly what the Maker intends?"_

_"Are you saying it is the Maker's wish that our son sacrifice more?" Duncan's father boomed. "He already walks a dangerous path, and now you would have him leap into the unknown in favor of a…a whim? He could be killed!"_

_"Death calls for him already," the stranger said quietly. "He has been hearing it for almost a year."_

_The hum returned, louder, echoing, and while he continued to stare at her, uncomprehending, he had the overlaid feeling that he was moving. His hands scratched and clawed at a hard surface, scraping until pieces of it pulled loose. There remained an unending sense of futility, and the song grew louder and louder, until fading out again._

_"For better or ill, Ostagar is where the future will be determined," the stranger decreed, immobilizing him with her mismatched eyes._

_Again the sense of being in two places at once grabbed hold of him, and overlaying the images of his parents he saw as darkspawn – twisted imitations of men, elves and dwarves scraped and dug into a black void. They used old weapons and crude rocks, and when they could not find that they used their bare hands, which bled as they tore fingernails and skin in an attempt to break through the rock-face. Duncan glanced down and stared at his hands, shocked to see that they too were torn, as though he had been digging into the bones of the earth._

_He looked up, once again in the sitting room, his parents holding onto each other anxiously. The scarred woman was now standing, and she held his face in his hands. Her touch was cool, a relief against his burning skin, and she whispered to him, "You still have a part to play, Duncan."_

_There was a roar in his ears, and a searing heat exploded around him. The sitting room was gone once and for all, his parents with it. The familiar smells of home faded and now smoke tore at his throat and stung his eyes. He no longer sat in the comfortable chair, but was chained to a pillar in the middle of a village square. He could hear the screams from beyond the almost impenetrable flames, and though their heat and brightness made his eyes tear, he could still plainly see the scarred woman standing before him, ignoring the intensity of the blaze._

_Chained as he was, he couldn't escape it._

_The song, beautiful and terrible as it hummed through the air, entered his very soul. It pulled him, cajoling and tempting, whispering wordless promises. He couldn't go to it – couldn't break free, and while he wanted to, he knew he shouldn't. Knew that breaking free meant something awful would happen –_

_The woman had his face in her hands again and the command in her voice penetrated his very bones._

_'Find her.'_

Duncan gasped as he awoke, the dream leaving such a sense of abject terror that he almost screamed out loud. Before he could make a sound, the feeling had all but disappeared, and he was able to cull the impulse.

'Just a dream,' he told himself as he forced his breathing to slow. He couldn't remember much of it now, only colours and feelings before the darkness took over. What hadn't faded was the hum. He had been feeling the siren song much more keenly than ever in the past few months, and that bothered him. 'It's too early. Far too early for it to be the Calling.'

And yet –

A shadow loomed over him out of nowhere, and recognition registered a split second before his usual reflex to reach for his daggers. Garm was sitting on one side of him in a protective hunch. Upon seeing that Duncan was conscious, he gave a queer little rumble at the back of his throat.

Duncan decided to interpret it as relief.

'I'm getting too old for this,' he thought, only somewhat facetiously as the memory of recent events began to return to him. He gingerly lifted his head and squinted past the dog, searching for sign of anyone else. Finding no one, he let it fall back. This was a mistake, as the movement threw into sharp relief the ache of muscles and joints. Coupled with the dull throb of several new bruises and a curious burning sensation that seemed entrenched in his very bones, the idea occurred to him that things were not as they should be.

"The others?" he croaked at Garm, and then decided he must be rather addled indeed if he was asking questions of a dog. He cleared his voice and attempted to call out, louder this time, "Elissa?"

Garm whined mournfully, but otherwise there was no answer,

"Damn," Duncan murmured, heart sinking.

He tried to sit up, but this elicited a wrenching pain across his left shoulder.

'Dislocated, by the feel of it,' he thought with grim recognition. He forced himself to relax and then slowly reached around with his right arm to position his injured arm properly. Inhaling sharply, he moved with a quick, strong jerk, and the shoulder clicked back into place.

He exhaled a curse, but there was an immediate feeling of relief as the pain lessened. Unfortunately, it made him all the more aware of the other injuries. The burning sensation continued, its epicenter seemingly coming from the back of his right elbow. He ignored it. There were more important things to worry about at the moment. If the situation was as bad as he thought it was, though, he would have to cope.

A second time he attempted to sit up, but couldn't manage it. He felt drained of his strength, and not in the normal way that meant he was exhausted. There was something else wrong.

As he tried to summon up his strength again, he concentrated on his surroundings, hoping to gain some insight into his location. He and the hound appeared to have washed up on the bank of the river – northern shore, judging by the flow of the river – and several feet away he made out a thick, damp tree trunk.

The dog was agitated. Now that Duncan was at least awake, Garm had moved away from him. He would sniff the air every so often, and then pace along the shore several times, his head inclined toward the east. The way his ears were cocked, it was as though he was straining to hear something that even his sharp senses couldn't. After a few minutes of this behaviour, he would return to Duncan's side and gaze up at him expectantly. And then he would repeat the entire process.

'Trying to see if he can hear his mistress,' Duncan realized dismally. His head throbbed. 'And to think, the day started out with so much promise.'

Elissa hadn't made any trouble that morning when they left Lostwithiel, ostensibly trying to respect her word to leave the business of the rogue Templars among their own. She was making good progress in his lessons in survival herb lore and when they had stopped earlier, he had seen that she was improving a great deal in her grasp of two-handed defense. After the last round she asked for, he had intended to start off again and make Lothering before nightfall –

Then everything had changed.

First when they had fallen into that nightmare of a spider's nest, and then when that mage had appeared to save them from out of the blue. Granted, he owed at least some part of his current survival to the stranger's intervention, but it had been rather providential.

'Too providential to be coincidence,' he had thought at the time, although he had been forced to make a split second choice on whether to trust her or not. The fact that Elissa seemed to have known or at least recognized her from somewhere had helped that decision along, but that didn't mean he had made it lightly. 'Given her phobia of mages, the fact that she recognized one is peculiar in and of itself.'

Not that any of his ruminations mattered if she and the mage had drowned in the less than peaceful journey down the Drakon.

"Why didn't I agree to test Ser Gilmore right away? We could have left Highever with Fergus Cousland's forces and I would be at Ostagar now," Duncan groaned. "Not washed up on a shore somewhere like a piece of rotting driftwood."

The dog beside him gave an inquisitive grumble, and he sighed.

The misery of the situation was making him ornery, he knew, despite the reality being that he couldn't even really blame the current circumstances on Elissa's impulsiveness. He had gone along with her idea. Not only that, he had been considering the same option himself. It had been the only choice at the time other than standing their ground and fighting the oncoming stampede.

'Which I probably would have done if I had been alone; not carrying a weakened mage and trying to herd Elissa and her blighted dog to safety.' He eyed the hound out of the corner of his eye, and then added, 'All right, that's probably not fair.'

Duncan's armour and the thick lining beneath them were still soaking, but in spite of the usual discomfort and annoyance at being cold and wet, he didn't feel the chill in his bones that would have signified a pressing health concern. From the beast's position when he had awoken, Duncan surmised that it had been lying beside him to keep him warm while he was unconscious.

'I suppose I was lucky. The others…'

The thought trailed off as an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

He had lost sight of Elissa within moments of hitting the water, and had only managed to keep hold of the mage for a short while longer thanks to a wayward spider. There had been too much to concentrate on – the spiders following, being separated from his companions, the unexpected strength of the current, the weight of his armour as he tried to keep his head above water –

He remembered the impact that had torn the mage's arms from his shoulders, and then the feeling of many legs scrabbling at him, pushing him under the water as the creature tried to stay afloat.

He had dived down, hoping the spider would release him if it thought he was pulling it down. The ploy had worked, but he had sustained several injuries from the frantic crawler before it finally had released him. Seconds later, he had been caught by the strong river current and propelled head-first into a submerged rock.

He didn't remember much after that, a blur of white spray and underwater darkness. Somehow he had remained conscious, but it had been a long time before any percentage of awareness really returned. At some point, he had felt something snap closed around his shoulder and arm. By the throb that started as he thought about it, he surmised the dog had managed to find its way to him at some point and held on for dear life, keeping them both afloat.

"My thanks," he murmured to the dog, who sniffed loudly in response and looked out intently across the river. Garm whined again. Duncan sympathized with what was bothering him.

There was no sign of Elissa anywhere.

'Chances are high that she drowned,' Duncan thought bleakly. 'She would have had a bit of a challenge to get out of that flow.'

He might have had an easier time escaping the current if he hadn't stunned himself silly, but it still would have been a trial. The last time he had had to test his swimming abilities had been almost twenty years ago. As it was, he and the dog had only just managed to make it, and that was due to luck.

After what had seemed like an eternity of being dragged above the water line and blearily fighting the rapids, something had struck him hard around the middle. They had still been moving forward, but the force was somewhat diminished.

Duncan's body had been pressed against something solid and rough, the strong water practically flattening him against it. Duncan had barely had the presence of mind to keep tight hold on the dog lest it be swept away from him. His head had broken the surface and he had found he was able to push against the object to regain some balance. As air had returned to his lungs, he had seen leaves and realized that the thing that had saved him was a fallen tree.

Fighting upward, Duncan hauled Garm around and lifted him up as well as he could. The dog had scrabbled at the wet bark, achieving a decent enough hold on it through a combination of strength and the use of his claws. At the same time, Duncan had managed to get his own grip on the tree trunk as they sailed down the river.

They had been able to rest for a spell, and he had looked around in vain for any sign of Elissa or the mysterious mage. Two bodies were being beaten against the rocks nearby, but it soon became apparent these were simply a pair of spiders that had followed off the bluff.

The way would become rougher the farther they were carried, and so Duncan had started to struggle toward the closest shore, using the tree as a buffer against the water. He had to angle it in just the right way that the flow of the river pushed it toward the banks. The task was difficult and tiring. Between him clinging to the tree and the dog, it was almost evening by the time he feet touched ground.

He had dragged himself and the dog out of the water, and that was all Duncan could remember before exhaustion had made him pass out.

"Which was how long ago, exactly?" he wondered out loud. This time he managed to sit up, but it was slow going, and he had to wait a full five minutes before attempting to get to his feet. Once upright, he remained dizzy and somewhat shaky, but was thankfully strong enough to keep from falling back. By some miracle his sword was still strapped to him, although one of his daggers was missing.

'Probably washed away,' he thought ruefully as he considered his surroundings again. He grimaced when he realized that he didn't recognize any of them. "And how far did the river take us?"

Not past Lostwithiel, he determined. Even fighting for a breath on the rough journey down river, he would have remembered passing by the mill along the banks. He inhaled deeply, ignoring the ache from bruised ribs, briefly cheered by the fact that he could smell the acrid scent from the mill. He and Garm appeared to be downwind of the village. If he remembered the distance between the two shores, he would estimate that they were twelve miles from where they had fallen in.

'A considerable distance,' he reflected ruefully. This thought was followed immediately by another, more pressing concern. 'Is it worth it to look for the girl?'

It was possible that she was dead. If he looked for her, he might end up wasting more time that he didn't have. On the other hand, after all the trouble he had gone through to get her out of Highever alive, it didn't sit well with him to just give up on the possibility she could have survived. She might simply have washed up a ways away in either direction.

The hound seemed to sense his thoughts, because he had returned to his side once again and was nudging at Duncan's right arm, eyes pleading.

The motion caused pain in his right arm to flare again, and this time he couldn't ignore the burning sensation. He twisted himself around to examine the wound, and upon seeing it, groaned in dismay. In the fleshy part of his upper arm just above his elbow, in a spot that his armour and leather padding hadn't adequately protected, he made out a large, bloody puncture. The skin around it was greenish and inflamed, with grotesque black streaks originating from the abscess.

'So the bastard did get me,' he thought grimly, trying to remember at what point the flailing spider had taken a chunk out of him. It must have when he dived for it, because he had been so focused on escaping the creature's hold that he hadn't noticed one more ache.

He prodded the lesion experimentally, gritting his teeth at the stinging prickle that caused. From what he could determine, it had been a superficial wound to begin with, but the skin around it had become necrotic in a short time. He didn't want to think about what would happen once infection and inflammation gave way to fever and all manner of even less amusing symptoms.

"I suppose that makes our decision for us," he told Garm warily. "Whether we look for your mistress or not has to wait until I see to my injuries."

Garm snuffed in frustration.

"You're more than welcome to go look for her yourself," Duncan told the dog pointedly. "You're probably better suited than I am at the moment, with that nose of yours. I need healing or I will not be travelling anywhere within the near future."

The dog barked, almost in agreement, and then took off, disappearing into the bushes that lined the shore.

For a moment Duncan stared at the spot where he had been. He hadn't actually expected the hound to leave him and was surprised at the feeling of dismay. He had gotten rather used to the beast in the past fortnight, but he had never seen him as anything other than the recruit's pet.

'Just as well,' Duncan decided, starting up the bank with the hope of finding the main road. 'Elissa could be dead. If she is, I don't think I could handle the cur's grief.'

In his experience, he had found animals to be a lot more honest and true than humans. They never lied about caring for you.

There was the crashing of foliage and the thunder of paws, and Duncan glanced up just in time to see the mabari ambling forward.

The dog came to an abrupt halt before Duncan. Before he could react, Garm dropped something at his feet and sat back on his haunches. His muzzle was dirty, but by the motion of his shoulders, Duncan surmised that he was wagging his stubby tail.

"What have you got there?" Duncan asked, crouching down carefully to examine the prize.

It took him a spell to realize what he was looking at, and when it finally made sense to him he couldn't hold back a hoarse laugh.

"No flies on you," he told Garm, not hiding the admiration as he picked up handfuls of burdock and elfroot. Burrs still clung to the plants and the roots were still firmly wound around clods of dirt, which suggested the dog had hauled them up out of the ground in his powerful jaws. From the look of the dirty muzzle, that was exactly what he had done. "I take it your mistress wasn't the only one listening to me when I talked about healing herbs, was she?"

The mabari barked, self-satisfied.

Duncan sighed. "It's still no cure, lad. These will help with the infection some, but I still need a healer."

Garm nudged the roots insistently, snorted loudly, and glanced back to the river. His meaning was plain.

'Maker, if he's intelligent enough to remember the things I said, does that mean I'm going to have to sit him down and tell him his mistress might be dead?' Duncan thought grimly. It was not something he was looking forward to.

Duncan glanced up at the setting sun, and then exhaled painfully.

"We'll cross that bridge when we must," he decided. "Come. Lostwithiel is bound to have a healer affiliated with the Chantry. The sooner we return there, the sooner we can leave again and decide what to do. And I would very much like to get out of these wet leathers before I freeze to death."

Garm barked in agreement.

(-)

Three days later Duncan was crouching down to inspect the tracks above the cliff where he and Elissa had sparred before falling through the ground. He would have returned to the point of their fall sooner, but whatever curative potions the healer at Lostwithiel's Chantry had given him had sapped him of all his remaining strength. He and Garm had reached the village by sundown, and by that time, Duncan had started to lose some function in his hands. They had only just managed to reach the Chantry before he collapsed into a fever.

According to the healer that had patched him up, he had spent an entire day unconscious.

"A miracle considering how much poison was in your system," the young man told him when Duncan awoke in one of the simple dorms that housed the Templars and the priests. Somehow, Garm remained firmly planted by his bedside. Duncan had had a sneaking suspicion that no one wanted to suffer a bite from the mabari by trying to make him leave. "You must have a strong constitution, ser, or the Maker's eye is upon you. It took every herb in my stores to purify your system."

"It didn't look that serious to me," Duncan replied, reaching for his affects. They had been cleaned and placed neatly by his bed.

"Maybe not on the outside, but there was a good deal of poison in your bloodstream," the young man explained. "Whatever gave you that wound had a substantial toxicity to it." He lowered his voice, looking around furtively, and had then asked, "If you don't mind me asking, ser, what did give you that wound?"

"You would not believe me if I told you," Duncan had answered as he motioned for Garm. He had thanked the healer, as well as the Revered Mother for the use of her Chantry to recuperate, and had left. On the way out of the village he dug out the few coins that he had sewn into his leathers in case of emergency and had commissioned a courier to run a message to Ostagar.

'Best let the King and the other Wardens know that we're delayed,' he had decided, but had refrained from dignifying how long. It all depended on what he decided to do with regard to the girl, and so he simply promised them an update once he reached Lothering. 'By then I might have achieved some sense of clarity.'

It was something he was wrestling with. Traditionally, there was no turning back between the point when a person was recruited and the Joining ritual. Once the Wardens had expressed interested in an individual, that individual was expected to commit to the Order until the ritual and beyond. Wardens treated those who deserted after recruitment with the same seriousness that the king's army dealt with those who evaded the draft.

However, the situation he had found himself in was a bit complicated. If she was dead it was one thing – recruits sometimes did die en route to the location of their Joining, however it was usually in battle and there was always a body to account for. In Elissa's case there was no body and Duncan was almost positive she hadn't deserted. If he didn't look for her, he would have to enter her name into the Warden records at Ostagar and in effect put a price on her head. If he did look for her, he could be looking for days or weeks that he didn't have to spare.

He and Garm had travelled back to where they had washed up on shore, and then followed the river back toward the bluff where they had evaded the spiders. There was no sign of Elissa or the mage, although when they got within a few kilometers he had thought he saw something on the far shore. It might have been the remnants of a camp, but he couldn't be sure.

'Something to consider,' he thought now as he scanned the wooded area by the cliff. It was utterly deserted, as he had determined after an obligatory inspection of the spider's former lair. The abandoned nest stank heavily of smoke and charred flesh even days later, but he was pleased that there were no stragglers.

Garm's nose was thrust to the dirt like he was trying to pick up lingering scents of his mistress.

There didn't seem to be any sign of her or the mage, and so Duncan supposed if they had survived, they hadn't returned. Still, as a precaution he followed several different trails of spider tracks to make sure. It was how he found the corpses of the horses about an hour later some five miles east of the nest. They had been cocooned in webbing and the few parts that could be seen appeared to have been stripped by rodents or other scavengers after the spiders were finished.

'Obviously eating on the run, or they would have taken them back to their new nest,' he decided, kneeling down and slicing into the thick, sticky webbing.

It turned out that other than consuming the horses, the spiders hadn't bothered with any of the belongings strapped to them. Besides some questionable looking fluids and a rather strong smell, the packs were still in good condition, as well as their weapons.

Duncan salvaged what he could and after a moment's deliberation, strapped Elissa's sword to his back. If they found her, she would need it.

'If.' he reminded himself, once again weighing all of his options. 'If she lives. If I decide to try to find her.'

It was a decision that he didn't want to make lightly, and yet trying to be as neutral as possible somehow felt wrong. Objectively, he knew that the most intelligent course was to leave her to her fate and return to Ostagar. Promising recruit or not, in the face of the Blight her importance was minimal. It had been a different thing when she had been travelling with him.

Garm barked sharply, interrupting his thoughts. He was surveying Duncan with expectation, almost as though he was trying to say, 'Do something.'

"And what would you have me do?" he demanded of the hound, feeling exasperated. "I have responsibility to more than just you and your mistress. I cannot simply wander down the length of the Drakon looking for someone who might have drowned. There has to be a justification for it."

The dog hunched, bowing his head in dejection.

Duncan massaged the bridge of his nose.

"Well, we looked up one side of the river and there was no sign. I suppose there's no harm in looking down the other," he sighed, and then narrowed is eyes. "But only for a certain distance. I'm not combing the entire stretch of the Drakon for your mistress if she's drowned.'

Garm rumbled gratefully.

"It's still half a day's journey to Lothering," he told the dog. "We won't be able to cross to the other side before then. I will not have you whining at me the entire way as you did getting here."

The dog barked in agreement.

Duncan shook his head. He had never even really liked dogs, and here he was having whole conversations with them. He had been around them before, yes, and had even known other Wardens who were accompanied by their own hounds, but he had never understood how those men and women could speak to the beasts as though they might answer back.

'Then again, none of those dogs were mabari,' he thought. 'Perhaps that makes the difference.'

The two of them travelled the rest of the way to Lothering and did not stop until late into the night. The West Road divided into several paths, one of which led to a fork in the road on the southernmost side of the Drakon. Duncan paused only for a moment to contemplate the paths. He knew where both of them led – the left would bring him to Ostagar, while the right would lead him away to Redcliffe.

'Time to make a decision once and for all,' he told himself, almost willing himself to start on the path to Ostagar.

Something spoke to him from the back of his mind, like the whisper of a dream, telling him he had to find Elissa. It went against every shred of intelligence that the Maker had given him, and yet it still seemed to make sense.

"This girl is going to be the death of me and she's not even here," Duncan murmured sourly.

He must have been standing still for a while in his deliberations, because Garm was next to him again and nudging at his hip, trying to prod him into action.

"Yes, yes," he said, deliberately turning his back on that path to Ostagar. "But I meant what I said, hound. I will go no farther than that spot I noticed on this shore. If we do not find any sign of her by then…"

He didn't voice what would happen.

On the fourth day after being separated from Elissa, Duncan and Garm managed to fight their way down through undeveloped forest and brush to the shore of the river. It was here that they managed to locate the area Duncan had seen from across the water. His first instinct had been right. It was the remnants of a camp, and an amateurish one at that.

"Amateurish but operational, by the look of it, though," he remarked, feeling a momentary swell of hope. There had been three small fires burning at one time, just as he had taught Elissa in their first nights together. If it was her, it meant she had actually listened to him for once.

Garm had his nose pressed to the ground and was snuffling in a pile of leaves. After a moment, he gave an excited bark, pawing and pacing in one spot.

Duncan was beside him in an instant, inspecting what the dog had found. Digging through the leaves, he picked up a small scrap of material. It took a moment to discern what it was, and when he did he felt that same feeling of hope try to fight its way forward again.

The material was a scrap of linen identical to what Elissa had worn beneath her armour, but encrusted with blood. It had been used and reused to mop of blood, or possibly to put pressure on a wound if anything could be judged from the jagged bloody shape that repeated itself a few times on the cloth.

"Think you can track that?" he asked the dog with a smirk.

As it turned out, tracking by scent wasn't completely necessary. Elissa and the mage, who had evidently survived as well, had left a very visible trail leading west. Garm was joyous at following in the footsteps of his mistress, but Duncan remained wary.

'Why go west? She knows enough geography to make her way to Ostagar, I would think. And even if she didn't, the best bet for her would have been to travel back up-river,' he mused. 'So either she _is_ trying to desert, which I find doubtful, or she's going west for a reason.'

The tracks petered out every so often as the paved stone of the road took over, and during these periods of time Garm was able to follow the scent-track. It looked as though they would be able to find Elissa and the mysterious mage soon enough, and Duncan began to entertain the hope that there would be little delay after all.

And then they lost the trail entirely.

A heavy rainstorm forced them to seek shelter the next day, and when the gale finally let up, the scent was gone, as were all traces of the tracks. Try as he might, Garm couldn't regain the trace. He circled around the spot where they had last seen the tracks and gazed up at Duncan in mournful frustration.

"I understand exactly how you feel," he told the hound dryly, eying the remnants of stone road as they continued on into the distance. Inwardly, he groaned, 'Another complication.' He closed his eyes, frowning in thought. 'The best indicator of future behaviour is past behaviour.'

According to the trail they had followed, Elissa and the mage had kept meticulously to the road for three days. There was no reason to go off by a different route – the river blocked them on the right, and the Hinterlands were more or less uninhabited. There was no reason to go in that direction. Elissa would know that the closest developed village was Redcliffe.

'But why would she make an almost six day journey to Redcliffe when she was closer to Lothering?' he mused. 'By rights she was closer to the path to Ostagar than I was. She would have known that.'

Whatever her reasoning or motives, Redcliffe was the best lead he had. From their current location he and Garm could reach the village in three days.

'And if she's not there, I can at least check in on Redcliffe's forces. When I spoke with Cailan and Anora in Denerim, they suggested that Eamon was having some trouble with his vassals and might not be able to commit the number of soldiers he had promised.'

Duncan felt as though he was grasping at straws, but there was that feeling at the back of his mind that kept pushing him to keep looking for Elissa. And it wasn't simply the dog's long-suffering glances, either. He had always been one to go with his instincts – whether those instincts told him to rob from a tower of mages or jump on a dragon's back – and in the end, they had never led him astray.

'Through a good deal of trouble, yes, but things always turned out in the end,' he thought.

He sincerely hoped this would be another one of those situations.

The road to Redcliffe yielded no signs of any kind, whether of two young women travelling together or of anyone travelling at all. Duncan's frustration was beginning to mount further the longer his recruit stayed lost. It wasn't until two days later that anything out of the ordinary occurred, and when it did, it came was received with mixed feelings.

Until now, they hadn't encountered any major settlements. There had been one or two farmholds within sight of the roads, but nothing particularly large. Around noon two days after they lost the scent, they started to near a small settlement that was close enough to the road to give Duncan some hope that the inhabitants might have seen Elissa or the mage.

When he stepped away from the path, Garm suddenly tensed and growled.

"Easy, boy," Duncan told him. "We will simply see if anyone here saw them."

This didn't make the dog relax, and Duncan found himself tensing in reaction.

'Something's not right,' he realized, although that inkling was not born of any Grey Warden sense.

The hamlet was small and deserted looking, but there was a smell like roasting meat emanating from the place.

'Never a good sign. Not more mass graves, I hope,' he thought. A moment later, that train of thought was followed by an exasperated, 'Maker's mercy, that can't be it, can it? She didn't decide to go off on her own to solve a mystery did she?'

Unfortunately, that seemed to fit Elissa's way too well.

'I'll kill her,' he thought, not first the first time. 'If she hasn't gotten herself killed already.'

The nearer they came, the more Garm's hackles rose, and he tossed his head from left to right as though he could sense something but couldn't identify what it was.

Duncan frowned, reaching out with his senses. On the periphery of his mind he felt the slow plodding advance of the main darkspawn horde, instinctively knowing it hadn't yet moved across Ferelden's southern borders. He could also feel less significant, individual thought patterns that represented the small roaming bands that had started cropping up all over the country in the past year, but there were none in the immediate vicinity.

This was something else.

Something moved behind a woodpile a few yards away. Duncan tensed and motioned for the dog to stay put. For a wonder, Garm listened to him, the low rumble in his throat the only indication of his feelings on the matter.

There was a boy standing before them, creeping away from the woodpile he had been hiding in. He looked to be about ten and was missing several teeth. His shirt and breeches were stained with blood and other fluids, while his stringy brown hair showed patches of scalp. There were odd-looking blotches on his arms and a sickly hew to his skin.

'Ghoul,' Duncan thought ruefully, already reaching for one of his daggers. He hadn't realized the darkspawn Taint had already started to spread northward, but it appeared those roaming darkspawn bands were doing their part. Worse still, this child had somehow come in contact with it.

"Stay back," he ordered Garm.

The mabari whimpered questioningly, but didn't make a move forward. Duncan returned his attention to the boy.

"I am sorry," he told him regretfully, knowing there was no way of helping the child. "I will make it quick for you."

As a Grey Warden, it was Duncan's duty to put the boy out of his misery not only to give him peace, but to stop the Taint from spreading farther. For a brief moment he was glad that Elissa was not present. She had been starting to understand the difficulties associated with being a Grey Warden, but he did not think she was mentally ready to watch a child being killed. Especially not so soon after her nephew had been slaughtered.

The tainted child staggered closer to him, giggling in a breathy manner and grasping at him. Duncan waited until he was within arm's reach, and then moved swiftly. He plunged his dagger into the boy's heart and then turned it sharply.

The boy gave a surprised cry, and then shuddered and went still. Garm growled, watching Duncan intently, but somehow he seemed to understand what was going on.

Carefully, Duncan laid him down on the ground, careful not to simply drop the frail body. Out of habit, he ignored the feeling in the pit of his stomach. Even after twenty years, carrying out such tasks didn't get any easier.

Suddenly Garm let out a surprised yelp and Duncan snapped to attention.

More figures popped up from among the bushes and rock outcroppings and poured out of the shoddy wooden buildings. One scrambled out from behind a wagon, naked to the waist, his torso covered in the dark blotches and holding an ax above his head in both hands. Duncan darted forward and rammed his dagger into the man's throat, splitting the neck bone with an audible crack. The man toppled backward like a felled tree.

A woman with a butcher's cleaver ran at Garm, who dodged her swing and lunged at her, jaws snapping. Her enraged shriek cut off with a wet squelch, and she too dropped.

Duncan was grappling with a young girl that had managed to grab hold of his daggers as they danced in clumsy circles. He supposed it was adrenaline making her stronger, because ordinarily a peasant girl would be no problem for him. He managed to get a hand free, dropping one dagger in the process, and chopped the heel of his hand into her throat. He felt the crush of the ghoul's windpipe. As she pulled back, bloodshot eyes wide, clutching at her ruined throat, Duncan pulled his sword from its sheath and swept it through the air. The girl's head and hand dropped to the floor.

Something hit him across the back of his skull, sending him reeling forward. He was grabbed from behind and dragged down, while somewhere beside him Garm's snarls and barks were drowned out by the feral cries of the ghouls as they surrounded them. Duncan managed to wriggle around, pulling himself out of the grasp of the reaching and grasping crowd of tainted peasants. Two of the ghouls were trying to hold him down, while a third loomed above him, raising a hayfork in both hands, its deadened eyes flickering in triumph. Duncan pretended to relax, instead drawing back on his strength to lash out with the creature came close enough –

Thock!

An arrowhead sprouted from the peasant ghoul's chest, barely to the left of the breastbone. Blood gushed from his mouth, and a brief expression of surprise passed over his features before he collapsed.

Duncan could hear voices, shouts –

"Rainsefere for Redcliffe!"

"Clear the way!"

"Round them up!"

Duncan barely allowed himself a blurred glimpse, perceiving at least half a dozen armed men, before his attention reverted to his captors. He managed to pull his right hand free from the momentarily slackened grip of one of the ghouls. Luckily this hand still held a dagger, and with a short punching stab through the chin, one of the ghouls holding him fell back. An economical twist and the other ghoul suffered a similar fate.

The rest of the ghouls began to retreat, almost hesitantly, as though they warred with their own self-preservation and the temptation to attack. The bodies of those that Duncan and Garm had taken out, as well as several sprouting arrows through vital parts of their anatomy, littered the hamlet ground.

"Do not let any escape or they will spread their corruption!" Duncan yelled.

Three of the newcomers gathered by their leader – at least that was what Duncan surmised, judging by the fact that he alone wore a suit of heavy chainmail while the others wore hardened leather – and formed up in a wedge formation. They charged forward to the largest gathering of ghouls, their blades glittering menace in the afternoon sun. They dove into the loose crowd of tainted peasants, and the throng exploded with sprays of blood and the sound of screaming. Swords swung in arcs that trailed red droplets into the air while Duncan busied himself with cutting down the stragglers.

Some of the ghouls fought for a brief moment, while others tried to flee the scene. Those soldiers that had not joined their leader in the direct onslaught took up longbows and took down any targets that remained in range.

And then there was abruptly no sound except their own panting and the sound of the soldiers clapping each other on the back, querying about their well-being.

Garm was growling, glancing from the bodies of the ghouls to the new arrivals. The man in heavy chainmail started forward, but the dog's warning growl gave him pause. He reached up slowly to remove his visor, revealing sweat matted dark auburn hair and clear blue eyes. He was square-jawed, with high cheekbones, and wore his beard trimmed in the fashion of Ferelden nobles.

Duncan blinked in surprise as recognition took hold.

"I am sure you could have managed on your own, Commander, but is seemed rude to ride by and not offer assistance," the leader said with a humourless grin.

"Let it never be said that the Wardens do not appreciate aid where it is freely given," Duncan replied, echoing the smile. "It has been many years, my lord."

The man let out a short bark of a laugh, and Garm relaxed incrementally. "I should say so. I had hoped to speak to you at the tourney in Redcliffe, but you had already hustled Alistair off to join the Wardens. I was hoping to congratulate him, you know."

"I apologize, but as I am sure you are aware, time was of the essence," Duncan answered easily.

"Of that I have no doubt. The Grand Cleric looked about ready to implode."

Bann Teagan Guerrin was the same age as Duncan, and yet they were starkly different in appearance. Years of wandering across the country fighting dark creatures and braving less than hospitable conditions to seek out new recruits had given Duncan the look of someone ten years older. Teagan, on the other hand, still retained the youthful guise of someone in his late twenties. Duncan and Teagan had met two decades before and had encountered one another several times over the years. The last time they had seen each other, though, had been at King Maric's funeral five years earlier and there hadn't been very much time to exchange pleasantries.

"You are rather far from your lands, my lord," Duncan remarked.

"Doing the business of the realm, I'm afraid," Teagan shrugged. "Loghain apparently doesn't like the numbers at Ostagar and impressed upon the king the need for a superior force. You know Cailan, though; he doesn't want to do anything that would inconvenience the people. Most of the soldiers he has up there now are volunteers – lesser sons, knights from the Bannorn and the like – and so he sent word to Eamon to try to encourage more volunteers." He lowered his voice, almost conspiratorially. "I had the sense he was only asking to placate Loghain. He doesn't want to conscript until it's absolutely necessary, and so Eamon sent me out to speak to the freeholders along the southern outskirts of the Bannorn. He seems to think I can convince men who are not even pledged to Redcliffe's service to fight the horde."

"You are a well-respected man in the Bannorn," Duncan told him. "In time you might be as influential as your brother. It does not surprise me that the Arl believes you capable of convincing any hold-outs."

"A high commendation indeed," Teagan chuckled, and then cleared his throat. "Enough about me, though. What brings you to these parts? I would have thought you would be at Ostagar already."

"I was supposed to be there four days ago," Duncan granted. "Some…unforeseen circumstances caused a bit of a delay."

He gave Teagan the short version of what had happened, careful not to give any unnecessary details.

"Well, I don't recall having seen anyone on the roads fitting that description, either a single traveler or a pair," Teagan said, scratching his head. "Most of the road people we have seen are large families moving north and there have only been a few at that. Rumours of the Blight are circulating, but they haven't yet caused a massive exodus of the area. Maker's Mercy, I hope that's not something we have to worry about any time soon."

"If the offensive at Ostagar is successful, it won't."

It went unsaid what would happen if it wasn't successful.

"Still. I regret that I could not be a better help. Are you sure she did not simply run away? The idea of fighting darkspawn is enough to scare even the most seasoned soldier."

"The girl has her own reasons for wanting to get to Ostagar. Something monumental must have happened to send her travelling this way." He sighed, half exasperated. "Or her sense of direction failed."

"Or the apostate kidnapped her," Teagan said conversationally. "Or she's dead."

Garm gave a series of upset growls

Duncan went quiet. That line of thinking was not something he wanted to pursue.

Teagan must have sensed something about his demeanor, because he went on hurriedly, "It is possible we might have missed her. I only just arrived in this particular area the day before yesterday. She might have already made it to Redcliffe by now. My men and I are headed in that direction now. We could ask around town in case any travelers of your description have been there."

"I appreciate that," Duncan said heavily. "I only hope it will yield some result."

Inwardly, though, a suspicion was forming that Elissa would not be in Redcliffe. It seemed more likely that for some reason, she and her mysterious companion had left the West Road and ventured into the Hinterlands.

'And if she did that, there is absolutely no way that I can justify going after her any longer,' he thought bleakly.

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

First of all, I would like to gush about the new Dragon Age comic. The story hasn't even picked up off the ground, but OMG Alistair! Squeee!

*cough*

Secondly, as per usual, many thanks to Cobar713 for his edit and for setting me straight on a few canon related issues.

Thirdly, originally I was going to keep review feedback to a minimum, because I always thought it kind of clogged up chapters, but I really enjoy engaging in answers to your comments, so maybe I'll break the rule once or twice...or always. We'll see how I feel:

**Judy**: Glad you like it!

**mille libri**: I love Neria. She's my favorite PC and when I first played Dragon Age I played as her. I ended up deciding to write about Elissa though because I'm a sucker for the "female warrior" theme in fiction and have yet to see someone write a convincing one where the main character isn't a borderline Mary-Sue. (It remains to be seen whether I actually end up being able to pull it off, but it's a longterm project. One can only hope...)Writing Elissa is so difficult for me, especially because I really distrust organized religions (fictional or not), but whatever my thoughts on the subject are, in her worldview and because of how she was raised, she simply accepts the Chantry point of view as truth. I decided to use Neria in this installment to start getting her out of her comfort zone…and as I said, I love Neria. I needed someone who could be just as stubborn as Elissa to get her to start using her head.

**Kor-Mavwin**: I'm glad you like Neria. She gets to say all the things I want to say about the Chantry but can't have Elissa say because it would be out of character, and seeing as how Anders isn't around for…a long long long long long long time, I have to grab characters where I can fin them, mwahaha! As for Neria being a Warden…well, there is no immediate intention for Neria to become a Warden for reasons that can't be discussed right now but which I'm considering alluding to in future chapters. Maybe. If I decide to go that route :P That's not to say we won't see more of her in future installments, but for now she's very much on one course and joining the Wardens is not it.I'll probably make a mention to that next chapter. I know this chapter wasn't Elissa and Neria centric, but we're not going to see Duncan for a few chapters, so he got his own little adventure today. More heated debates and stubborn dialogue to come! As for the term lawyering – although that particular word was not used until the mid-1600's, the profession of lawyers has been in existence since antiquity and underwent a resurgence from the 13th century onward. By the Middle Ages (which I consider relevant because Dragon Age is supposedly based on medieval England…you know, if there were dragons and walking corpses and stuff), it was an accepted practice.

Also, thank you to all of you who read this fic and enjoy it, even if you don't review.

**Fourthly, for future reference, if I ever seem to disappear for more than a week after an update, check my profile page for information. That's where I post news about upcoming chapters or if I have to take a short break for school/real life/btvs marathon…you know. Important stuff like that. If I can't update, I at least let everyone know why.**

Cheers for now!


	12. Chapter Twelve

_**Battle Maiden**_  
>by ErtheChilde<p>

"_**My father once told me that adventure is just someone else knee-deep in shite far from home. Maker, but I wish I had listened to him."  
><strong>_

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Twelve:<em>

Elissa arose after a sleepless night, stiffer than usual and uncomfortably aware of how hungry she was.

'I could probably eat as much as Duncan this morning,' she thought with grim humour, and then immediately felt guilty at the thought. This entire situation felt to her like a betrayal of him, but it wasn't as though she hadn't looked. After her conversation with Neria the day before, she had scoured the southern shore in both directions for Duncan or her hound. She had been careful to keep in sight of the campfires, but there had been no sign of them. Either they had drowned, or the river had carried them a lot farther than it had carried her and Neria.

'Don't think about it,' she told herself firmly.

Beside her, Neria shifted in her sleep and murmured something that might have been her brother's name. Elissa's stomach contracted, this time with uncertainty of the future and not hunger.

She had told the mage that she would sleep on the decision, hoping that time spent considering the matter would help make her options clearer. Or perhaps she had hoped that if she delayed long enough Neria might decide to take off and leave her alone.

Whatever her true intent, it had done little good; sleep had evaded her. While the mage took the first watch, Elissa had been unable to surrender to unconsciousness despite her exhaustion. Her thoughts had been so convoluted that they had fought off any vestiges of slumber.

The most intelligent course seemed to be travelingto Ostagar. If Duncan had survived, it was where he would go. However, the mage had made a good argument – even following the river, living long enough to make it to Ostagar was something problematic. Elissa could hunt sufficiently, and Duncan had taught her enough to find shelter or build it if she had to, but…

'But one wrong turn and I could be wandering in the wilderness with no chance of finding my way back,' she had thought, trying to get comfortable in the bed of leaves where she and Neria had huddled to keep warm. The fires had chased away the dampness, but the night chill could still seep into their bones if they weren't careful. 'And suppose I go to Ostagar and Duncan didn't make it? How do I explain that to the Wardens? It would be my fault if he died.' She had frowned into the darkness. 'There's a small possibility they might still want me – but what if they don't?'

It was that thought that had worried her the most. If the Wardens had no use for her, her purpose would be diminished. The king would be informed of Howe's betrayal in any situation, but she would still be unable to participate in the battle. Whether Fergus lived or not, without the Wardens claim on her, her role reverted to what it had been before Duncan pulled her away from her dying parents: to regain Highever and preserve the Cousland legacy. Once the offense at Ostagar was won, she wouldn't even be able to personally see to Howe's downfall without jeopardizing the Cousland bloodline. She would have to appoint a champion or wait until she had an heir. She didn't like either option, not least because of the amount of time it would take.

'Even with the King's support, which I have no doubt he will offer ush, the matter will take months to resolve," Elissa had thought miserably. "Perhaps years, given how many supporters Arl Howe has. I know Father had his share of enemies among the more conservative elements of the nobility, and Howe might have been able to buy their loyalty. And I haven't spent enough time at court to gain much support. Mother's people would pledge themselves for clannishness' sake, and perhaps South Reach and Waking Seas…but do I really want to start a civil war just to get our lands back? Surely there's another means of finding supporters…'

Her thoughts had trailed off. There was another option, however small.

'Aedan.'

It was unknown whether he yet lived, but if he did, her half-brother could play a vital role in the recovery of Highever. Aedan had many allies that he had acquired in his travels, allies that he could call on in the event of trouble. Furthermore, with their parents dead, Elissa – or Fergus if he lived – could formally acknowledge Aedan as a Cousland. That would help to ensure the survival of the bloodline.

'And on the off chance that the Wardens still want me, having an heir to the Couslands or even two, would be a really good idea," she had thought. 'The problem is, I have no way of finding Aedan, or even sending him word. For all I know, he could be dead too. I must get to Ostagar somehow, and once I do it could be weeks or months before I leave again. By then it might be too late.'

It was too bad she wasn't free to travel outside of Ferelden, whether Duncan lived or not.

Beside her, Neria had shifted, and the rustle of kindling told Elissa she was adding to the fire.

The beginnings of an idea started to take shape. It was possible that –

'Oh, no, bad idea,' she had told herself firmly. 'That's right up there with deciding to jump off a cliff into a river without knowing how strong the current is. Utterly foolhardy.'

But a little voice at the back of her head had reminded her that it might be her only option.

She had argued with herself until morning, barely remarking when it was her turn to act as lookout. She was so preoccupied that she let Neria sleep the rest of the night away without waking her for her watch. It would have been a waste, and besides, the mage needed her strength.

'Especially if we're going to go through with this,' Elissa thought as the first rays of sunlight crept over the trees. She wandered down to the river's edge to splash some of the cool water on her face. After a long argument, she had finally agreed to allow Neria to heal her cuts and bruises. The only evidence of the wound along her temple was a thin pink scar. Still, the incident hadn't served to endear her to magic at all.

She avoided the subject of her plans as long as she could as they put out the fires and gathered the last of their affects, now warm but still damp from the morning dew. The mage remained silent the whole time, but the way Elissa felt her eyes on her, she knew that Neria wanted to know what the plans were.

It was time to make a decision.

"What makes you think your brother is even still alive?" Elissa asked, trying to sound offhand. At Neria's grin, she realized she had failed.

"Alim knows how to survive on his own. He wandered alone long enough that he remembers surviving off the land and it will make it hard for the Templars to track him," Neria told her. "The only reason the Tempalrs found us the first time is because they had my phylactery."

Elissa frowned. "I thought you said you destroyed your phyla…thing?"

"I destroyed Alim's phylactery, and the ones belonging to the other mages we escaped with, but not mine," Neria replied. "Everyone but me was still an apprentice. I just recently underwent the trial to become a mage, and the Templars already sent my phylactery to Denerim. I suppose a messenger was dispatched to return it right away."

"Doesn't that mean this Ser Piers character would still have it, then?" Elissa asked. "Wouldn't he know we're coming?"

"In all likelihood, they think I'm dead. They either tossed it or won't bother with it any longer."

"You hope."

"I hope."

Elissa sent her a hard look. "If Alim is so hard to track, what makes you think we will find him but the Templars won't?"

"Because they don't know where he's going. I do."

"How?"

"There's only one place he would flee to on his own – in fact, it was one of the places we were talking about going to when we escaped the Circle," Neria explained. At Elissa's expectant expression, she added, "The ruins where he was found."

"Ruins…" Elissa strained her brain to remember what the mage had told her about her brother. "The ones you said were at the foot of the Frostbacks? Do you know how little that narrows things down? Not to mention, you're talking about heading to one of the colder, less hospitable parts of Ferelden."

"Alim talked about the place enough over the years that I can find it on a map or at least locate it using landmarks that he spoke of if we can't get out hands on one"

"I find it surprising that you know geography."

"I probably had a better education than you did."

Elissa snorted. "Unlikely."

"Don't be modest or anything."

"I'm not," Elissa retorted, feeling petulant. The mage seemed to bring out the worst in her. "What kind of ruins were these, anyhow?"

"Old Tevinter," Neria answered. "From the description of Alim and the Templar who brought him in, I narrowed it down to the ruins of Razikale's temple in the southwestern reaches of the Hinterlands, just bordering the Frostbacks."

Elissa raised an eyebrow. "The Templar who brought him in? I'm surprised you would trust that information."

"I already told you, some Templars can be trusted," Neria snapped, two round spots of colour on her cheeks. "At least this one can."

"Are you sure?"

"That's not important," Neria said, tossing her hair indignantly. "All I want to know is if you're going to help me or not."

"Let's get one thing straight – I know my own abilities and I have a rather good idea of what my limitations are," Elissa told her bluntly. "Challenging a group of Templars just for the sake of two apostates – one of whom could actually be dead and rotting away as we speak – is a little too close to suicide for my liking. So if I'm even going to consider doing this, we will do it my way."

"All right," Neria agreed immediately, relief passing across her features.

Elissa held up a hand. "That means if we make it that far and I see no way to engage them without bloodshed that could get us killed, you're on your own." Neria opened her mouth to protest, but Elissa cut her off. "I'll do what I can, but I won't lose my life over it. If you want to keep going at that point, you go right ahead. He's your family, so I understand wanting to save him in any way you can – or avenge him if you have to. But that is not my fight."

She allowed that to sink in, and Neria finally nodded stiffly. "Fine."

"That's just the provision for me going with you," Elissa continued. "There's something I want in return."

"Whatever happened to helping someone out of the goodness of your heart?" Neria demanded, obviously losing the fight to control her temper. "I told you I would get you to Ostagar, isn't that enough?"

"In the face of possible death from a Templar's sword? No, it's not," Elissa answered frankly.

Neria narrowed her eyes, and then took a deep breath. "All right. What is it you want?"

Elissa paused here, unsure of how much to say. Finally, she decided to keep her explanation concise. If their arrangement went as planned and she found herself somehow able to better trust the mage, she would explain the rest.

"My family was murdered and our holdings were seized unlawfully," she said slowly. "I was the only one there that night to actually escape, but as luck would have it, my two brothers were not present. The man responsible for the attack might have sent assassins after them – in fact, I would bet on it. I can find out the fate of my brother Fergus on my own once I reach Ostagar, but my brother Aedan left on a ship to the Free Marches just over a fortnight ago. It's imperative that I find out whether he lives or not – and if he does, he must return to Ferelden as soon as possible."

Understanding dawned on Neria's face. "You mean…?"

"I will help you find your brother – dead or alive – if you will promise me to try to find mine," Elissa stated clearly.

A long silence stretched between them.

Neria broke it, her voice probing. "Before I agree to this, answer me this: you already made quite clear that you don't trust mages. Why would you trust me if I said I would do as you ask?"

"I could pose the same question back to you," Elissa returned. "Barring some dream woman's recommendation, why would you trust a human to help you find your brother? Or are you implying that you are actually untrustworthy?"

"Now who's lawyering?" Neria responded coolly.

Elissa narrowed her eyes, and after another pause, answered. "I believe that as much as I would hate to be in the debt of a mage, I think you would like to be in the debt of a human even less. I think you would _swim_ to the Free Marches if it meant clearing such a debt."

Neria opened her mouth, possibly to protest, and then closed it. She smiled coolly. "You assume to know my character on such short acquaintance."

"I'm usually good at judging people."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"Do you accept my terms or not?"

Neria regarded her for a long moment, and then nodded. "I do. I swear that if you help me –

"– to the best of my abilities – "

" – to find my brother – "

" – whether he lives or not – "

"Yes, yes, that's all implied!" Neria snapped. "I will do my best to find your brother and if he lives, I will relay your message to him. Are we agreed?"

"…Yes."

"Shall we seal it in blood?" Neria asked brightly. At Elissa's glare, she laughed loudly. "Just joking." The mage held her hand out, and after a beat of hesitation, Elissa grasped it firmly in her own. It surprised her that for such a dainty-looking frame, Neria's grasp was strong.

They shook hands once, briskly, and then both quickly let go.

"If I find out that you're deceiving me in any way, I will kill you," Elissa told her bluntly. "I don't need a sword to do it, either."

Neria grinned, apparently unfazed by the threat. "Aren't you confidant."

"Not so much confident as stubborn," Elissa retorted. "It is as you said."

"Then I suppose I should feel relieved that I have no intention of deceiving you," the elf answered, the sudden hardness in her eyes belying the amused tone of her words. "I hope you know that the same holds true for you if you decide to betray me."

"I would expect no less."

They continued to watch one another for a moment, and then Elissa broke the silence.

"Well, if we're going, we will have to find some supplies," she said in a businesslike tone. "Otherwise, not only will we starve to death before we even start looking for your blighted brother, I bet we'll end up roasting over some backwater savage's fire pit."

"You are a cheery individual, aren't you?" Neria deadpanned.

In the end they agreed to stay close to the West Road until they could find some supplies. Elissa believed it was their best option, given how sparsely populated the territory south of the Drakon was. According to every lesson she had on the kingdom's holdings, the nearest settlement within walking distance was Lothering. When she suggested it, though, Neria refused, arguing that it would bring her farther away from her goal.

"Enough time has already been wasted," she pointed out.

"Well, it's the nearest place to find supplies. The next settlement if we keep going west is Redcliffe – six days from here," Elissa shot back.

"I'm sure there are communities along the way."

"Not many, and those that are there are little more than farming hovels," Elissa argued. "They're not even on any of the current maps of Ferelden, that's how small they are."

"But they _are_ there," Neria said, sounding satisfied.

"The people who live this far south are most likely destitute. We probably have more than they do right now, and that's saying something."

"You're being overdramatic."

Elissa scowled. "My point is we're probably not going to find anyone out here that will just up and lend us tools and weapons so that we can hunt down a group of Templars to rescue an apostate."

"Obviously we wouldn't tell them that," Neria chuckled. "Besides, in my time outside of the tower, I've found that the folk you would call commoners seem rather helpful."

"Maybe up north they can afford it," Elissa remarked. "The farther south we go, the less friendly they're going to be. And in case you hadn't forgotten, we're going to be travelling rather close to the Frostbacks. That means it's entirely possible we might run into some Avaars, who are decidedly _not_ friendly when it comes to lowlanders in their territory. And this is all ignoring the fact that there are hundreds of bandit gangs roaming the countryside trying to stock up for the winter."

"Are you forgetting that you are in the company of a powerful mage? I was the First Enchanter's protégé for a reason. Even without a staff to amplify my magic, I'm rather gifted," Neria said easily. "And weren't you the one who said you could kill someone without a sword?"

Elissa rolled her eyes heavenward. "You know you've hit rock bottom when an apostate is telling you to keep your spirits up."

Neria frowned. "Are you always this negative, or is just because I'm here? I could always walk on the other side of the road if it will help you get your thoughts in order."

"No, I'm not!" Elissa snapped. "I've just never had to think about any of this nonsense before, and making decisions used to be easy, but now I have to think about consequences, and I…I just…" She trailed off, realizing that she was practically yelling now and that Neria was staring at her, bemused. She took a shaky breath and waved dismissively. "Forget it. You want to travel west, we will travel west. We'll figure something out."

And she stalked away.

The rest of the day was spent in relative silence, broken only occasionally when one of them noticed edible roots and plants along their way. Without tools or weapons, hunting was impossible, and so the only nourishment they had access to was what they could find as they travelled. Luckily Elissa's rudimentary herb knowledge was greatly supplemented by Neria's expertise.

Every so often the West Road petered out into sections of upheaved cobblestones or was swallowed by bristly undergrowth that required them to stray from the path. They stopped to set up camp only when the last vestiges of daylight disappeared beyond the horizon, bedding down in a small clearing far enough from the road that they could watch out for unwanted visitors but close enough that they would be able to find their way the next morning. Elissa gathered brush and twigs for a fire which Neria started with no more than a flick of her wrist. Alone as they were and without the threat of catching a chill as had been the case the night before, they only built the one fire. Elissa didn't want to risk it attracting attention, whether from roaming bandits or wild animals.

She took the first watch that night, trying to ignore the stubborn gnawing feeling in her stomach. It was something she was unused to. Even travelling with Duncan on limited rations, she had never felt as famished as she did now.

Curled up beside her for warmth, Neria appeared to be unbothered by any sense of hunger. Elissa would normally have attributed such a thing to the fact the mage had been on the run and living off the local vegetation for days, except a nasty little voice at the back of her head wondered if perhaps the mage was just used to not eating a lot. If any small bit of what Neria had said about living in the Circle Tower was true, perhaps malnourishment was just another trial to undergo.

'Nonsense,' Elissa told herself severely. 'Depriving anyone of nourishment, food or not, is against the teachings of Andraste. The Chantry would never hear of it.'

But the nagging feeling wouldn't go away.

She awoke shivering the next morning.

'The fire probably went out,' she thought as she stretched the kinks out of her back and turned around to ask Neria if she thought it was worth it to build it up again, just to warm up before they started the days walking. She froze when she saw the spot beside her was empty.

"Neria?"

She jumped to her feet, searching around in vain for a sign of the mage. The clearing where they had slept was empty, the fading embers of the fire the only trace that the mage had even been there. Elissa couldn't see any tracks to suggest she had been dragged off, or even to suggest she had wandered away on her own.

"Neria!" Elissa called, trying to stamp down the sudden panic of being all alone. Standing by herself in the middle of nowhere was unexpectedly nerve-wrecking. The feeling of smallness in the face of nature was much more present when she was by herself, whether she was near the road or not.

'And to think, I was going to run away from home and travel to the front by myself,' she thought scornfully. 'I'm beginning to think Fergus was telling the truth when he said I'd been dropped on my head as an infant.' "Neria, you blighted apostate, if this is some kind of joke, I swear I'll – "

"Here I am."

Elissa yelped in surprise and whirled around to face the mage, who had reappeared so swiftly and silently it was as though she had done so out of thin air.

"I had hoped to be back before you woke up," the mage told her cheerfully, her hands behind her back.

"So you just took it into your head to leave camp?" Elissa demanded, fighting down the urge to throttle the mage. "The whole point of sleeping in shifts is to keep an eye out for danger, and you just decided to waltz off on a stroll, did you?"

"Of course not," Neria countered. "I woke up and took a quick look at the area from up high to get our heading for today. And I saw this little hovel about a mile south and thought I'd poke around a bit in case they had something useful." She brought out one of her arms, dangling a large blade from it. The weapon was eight inches, thick on the back, with a wicked point and a gently curving cutting edge on the other side. "As you can see, I was successful." She grinned smugly. "Actually, not only was a I successful – " She brought her other arm out into the open and thrust a bow and quiver of arrows into Elissa's hands. "I was extremely successful. Now we have something to hunt with and fend off those hundreds of bandit gangs you were talking about. It's not a sword, but the place I stole this from didn't look like it had seen hardened soldiers in decades, so you'll have to make do."

Elissa glanced up sharply. "You _stole _it?"

"How else did you think we were going to get any supplies anywhere?" Neria asked. "It's not as though we've got coin on us, and as you said, people are less likely to be helpful."

"You can't just steal something like this from a peasant's family – it could be something that determines whether he and his family starve or live!"

Neria snorted dismissively. "You are so naïve."

"And you have a skewed moral compass!" Elissa accused.

"No, I have an excellent sense of how to survive!"

"And not a care for anyone else," Elissa accused. "The primary means of surviving out here is hunting – there aren't any farms. Do you see any bowyers' shop around here? If the man had a bow, it's because he traded for it or bought it to feed his family – and if he made it himself, it probably took him a long time!"

The area they were in wasn't home to a good selection of wood. The best wood for bows came from the Brecelian Forest, several days journey. That amount of time could mean the difference between survival and starvation to a poor family.

"You're overthinking things," Neria told her. "Those peasants are going to survive a lot longer than we are – and don't give me that look, I can hear your stomach grumbling from here. Most likely the people I took this from have food stored. Would you rather I have stolen that? I'm sure that bothersome conscience of yours would have a lot to say about taking food out of their mouths."

Elissa opened her mouth to argue, and then stopped herself, seeing the mage's logic. "I…suppose."

"I believe the words you're looking for are 'thank you, Neria', followed by an apology for practically jumping down my throat," the elf suggested.

Elissa rolled her eyes and pretended to examine the bow. "You do realize that if we catch up to the Templars I'm going to need a sword, right?"

"I thought you said you didn't want to fight them?"

"Not to fight," Elissa shot back as she started off. "I'd have to look at least a little imposing in case things don't work out, right?"

"Creators preserve me, is that a sense of humour?"

"Don't push your luck."

(-)

The bow that Neria had purloined was made of well-shaped yew and was about four feet long unstrung. It had a forty-five pound draw, which was a respectable weight for a small-framed man and thus not a problem for Elissa to bend. Given the craftsmanship, it was probable its owner had traded well for it. The arrows were of lesser quality, undoubtedly hewn by the owner and not acquired from a merchant or trader.

'Don't think about it,' Elissa ordered herself as she brought the bow up quietly. The hare was twenty yards away, and was the first game they had managed to find since Elissa started hunting the day before. The approaching winter made finding food harder than it would have been in the summer months, because the majority of animals were preparing to hibernate and thus avoided open areas. 'Neria's at least right about one thing – a full stomach will probably staunch any more feelings of guilt.'

They had left the road that morning, partially because it would be easier to find game farther into the Hinterlands, but also because Neria insisted it was faster to cut through the untamed land than to follow the West Road. Elissa had been hesitant to believe her. All she knew of this particular stretch of country was maps and compass headings, and remaining on the road had been providing her with some unconscious comfort while they remained near it. Still, Neria had remained insistent, reminding Elissa that she would be able to direct them around any potential obstacles.

'Supposedly,' Elissa thought doubtfully.

She drew back smoothly until she felt she had achieved the perfect amount of tension, and then let the arrow loose. The shot had the guaranteed, almost reassuring feel she always got when she knew she was going to hit her target. The projectile hit the hare somewhere in the body, and it went over in an undignified tangle.

"Hah!" she cried, triumphant, and hurried forward to retrieve the hare.

She recovered the arrow as well. There was no sense in wasting what was already in limited supply. She finished the hare off with a sharp blow by the thickest part of the bow and knelt down to begin preparing it. It had been a nice clean kill, she decided as she cleared away any stray twigs or leaves that might contaminate it. From the ease with which the arrow came out, she surmised that none of the internal organs had compromised the actual meat.

She brought out the blade she had borrowed from Neria and began to sharpen it against a smooth, flat rock that she had found for just such a purpose. She removed the head and feet, and was just peeling back the hide to remove the internal organs when she sensed someone coming up behind her.

"What'd you catch?" Neria asked, crouching down beside her.

"A hare. A young male, by the look, about two pounds," Elissa answered as she butchered the rabbit. "That should keep us for a bit." She noticed Neria making a face, and raised an eyebrow. "Squeamish?"

"Trust me, I've seen worse," the mage assured her. "I've probably _eaten_ worse." She looked slightly green. "It's just the smell that bothers me."

"Well, if you're going to throw up, kindly do it away from dinner. I'd rather not have to live off roots and berries again tonight because you have a weak stomach."

Neria stuck out her tongue, but she did move back several steps.

Elissa raised an eyebrow. "You actually listened to me."

"This will be the first bit of meat I've had since before I was imprisoned," Neria explained. "I won't jeopardize that in any way."

"You mean you've actually spent the past two weeks living off plants?" Elissa inquired, impressed despite herself. She doubted she would ever be able to do such a thing. It wasn't just the monotony or the constant sensation of not being full that she was worried about. In order to keep up her strength to fight or wield a weapon, she had to eat properly. Duncan's field rations had been limited, but they had been made up of dried venison or beef. They had been just enough to keep her energy level steady. A diet of herbs and roots for a fortnight would definitely lead to a reduction in her strength.

"For the most part," Neria said. "We worked with them enough at the Circle to know what's edible and what's not. Then there was the odd farming community that gave us food…" Here a pained expression appeared on her face. Elissa recognized guilt over the fact that those short associations had led to dire consequences for the kindly peasants. "Anyhow, they could usually only spare some bread and a few fruits from the harvest. When we reached Lostwithiel I wanted to go into the town to see if we couldn't buy a hot meal – I'm rather good at relieving people of their purses, you see." Neria grinned. "A leftover talent from living in an Alienage; but Alim wouldn't hear of it. He said there was too great a chance that the Templars would notice me."

"He was probably right," Elissa told her. "Even if they didn't notice you were a mage, there aren't many elves down south. That would have drawn attention."

"That's why we ended up skirting around Lostwithiel," Neria nodded. She made a face as Elissa finished butchering the hare. "Fat lot of good it did us in the end, though…"

Elissa stuck the knife in her belt and stood up, hare in one hand, bow in the other.

They returned to the clearing they had chosen for camp, a small glade alongside the river that was protected by a sparse grouping of trees. Elissa hung the hare up over a construction of thick sticks to rid it of any leftover offal, and Neria lit a fire, coaxing it into a respectable heat. She was trying to conserve as much of her mana as possible, and had limited her use of magic to lighting fires and scouring the skies to ensure they were moving in the right direction.

As Elissa rinsed the meat and cleaned out the various cavities, Neria cleared her throat. "Is it customary for noble ladies to know how to hunt?"

"That depends on your definition of hunt," Elissa answered, cutting the remainder of the hide into thin strips.

"I didn't realize there was more than one."

"The women of the nobility hunt with trained falcons," Elissa explained. "You can hardly call that hunting, though, it's more of an outdoor salon. They have a grand picnic outside in the forest and then release their falcons and wait for them to bring in their kills. Maker forbid they get their hands dirty. If that's what you mean by hunt, then yes, it's exceedingly common – in fact, it's a symbol of status."

Neria regarded her with amusement. "And the other type?"

"Actual hunting generally does not include women, no," Elissa answered as she took the spit and slipped the hare's body onto it. She folded the forelegs of the creature over each other, and then did the same to the rearlegs, securing them with the pieces of hide. "It's a sport for the men of the nobility, and it usually takes an entire day, from the feast in the morning to the end of the day when the last animal is killed." She held her hand near the fire for a few seconds to test the flame, and then set the spit up over the fire. "My brother Fergus told me that when the Orlesians were here with their chevaliers, and when horses were more common, most women rode with their husbands to watch the chase. But they weren't permitted to participate. Now, though, without any way to keep their precious silk skirts clean, they wait at home until the men return."

"So how is it that you know how to hunt, then?" Neria wanted to know.

"My case was rather…anomalous," Elissa answered awkwardly. She didn't want to explain the convoluted reason for her arms training to the mage. "I managed to convince my…father to teach me to hunt, but it's only recently that I was permitted to accompany him and the other noblemen. I never asked him, but I believe his position at court and within the kingdom might have had something to do with it. The other nobles weren't happy, I know that much. Even when I proved that I could shoot a bow just as well as the rest of them – my mother saw to that."

"Your _mother_?" Neria exclaimed, surprise and something akin to delight on her face. "I would have thought noblewomen taught their daughters to sew and to cook!"

"She tried to," Elissa answered earnestly. "Neither of those lessons really took. It's only since Duncan recruited me that I…" She trailed off and peered over at Neria. She had only just realized how much she was telling the elf, and that fact was rather disconcerting. Not only had Neria managed to coax Elissa into giving away information about herself, she had gotten her talking about her family as well. It was time to turn the conversation back to the mage before she gave away more about herself. "I don't suppose they teach you to cook at the circle?"

Neria grinned at her. "That depends on your definition of cook." At Elissa's eye roll, she continued. "The Chantry priests and initiates were in charge of meals, and they kept them simple. When you have five hundred people crammed into such a small tower, you have to stretch things as far as possible – still, all the mages had chore rotations, and if you were on the cooking detail, you basically spent a month of your spare time stirring scalding tureens of sludge and scrubbing pots in the kitchens. So if by cooking you mean gruel and potage, then yes, I can cook, but this –" She gestured at Elissa slowly rotating the spit over the fire. " – This is an entirely new experience. I hope I can remember it all once we get Alim back. If not…well, we'll manage."

Elissa paused, wondering how someone could be so confident in the face of odds that were not optimal. It occurred to her that Neria had lost just as much as she had – the only family she had and the only home she had ever known – but somehow, instead of shutting herself down, Neria looked only to what came next. It seemed abnormal for Elissa to even consider treating her own situation with such careless abandon. A moment later, she amended herself.

'It's not careless abandon. She's simply redirecting her own ends to whatever circumstances are thrown at her.' An idea occurred to her. 'Almost the same way one fights a duel. Plans and strategies are well and good, but most of the time they fall apart. It's how you adapt to the situation which wins the battle. But I've never heard of anyone _living_ like that before.'

For a brief moment, Elissa found that she was envious of the mage. She had always considered herself a confident person, but Neria seemed like the type who could will the outcome she desired into being, and Elissa somehow knew this had nothing to do with magic.

The momentary feeling passed almost as soon as it arose, and she shook her head gently as though to clear it. Reason returned, and she commented, "You do know that even if we find your brother, you might both starve to death out here over the winter or be set upon by bandits."

Neria made a dismissive gesture. "We'll chance it. Given the choice, I would rather starve here or on the streets of an Alienage than go back to the Tower and starve there under the thumb of the Templars."

"That seems rather…extreme."

"Do you know they stationed Templars in the kitchens as well?" Neria continued. "They always said it was to protect the priests and initiates, but I bet it was to make sure one of us didn't just up and decide to slip something poisonous into the food." There was a downright mischievous expression on the elf's face for a moment. "Or to start a food fight in the kitchens."

Elissa stared. "A food fight?"

"A friend of mine used to do that whenever his rotation came up, and it got to the point where they stopped allowing him into the kitchens. He once upturned a vat of pea soup over one of the Templars. It was brilliant."

"Was the Templar hurt?" Elissa asked, alarmed.

"Of course not – he was in heavy plate, wasn't he?" Neria responded sourly. Her expression had sobered again. "Of course, trust Daylen to choose the most vindictive target he could. Ser Logan made his life absolutely miserable from that point onward. I'm surprised the boy didn't actually starve to death."

"Starving someone to death is against the teachings of Andtraste," Elissa pointed out.

"Funny how once you transform 'starving' into 'fasting' the priests will turn a blind eye," Neria deadpanned. At Elissa's confused expression, she added, "One of the favorite punishments at the Circle was making a disobedient mage fast in penance for a few hours – or a few days, depending on the severity of the offense." Her fists clenched briefly. "They want you to see them as your saviors when they come to give you a bowl of gruel when your 'penance' is up. Then they laugh and jeer when you throw up that first meal because your stomach's too shrunken to take it."

"You're making that up," Elissa muttered, although she sounded uncertain.

"Some mages will actually voluntarily starve themselves to death rather than play by the Chantry's rules," Neria went on unpityingly. "It's the only choice that they can make for themselves at that point."

"If things were so bad there, why didn't you do that?" Elissa snapped, growing tired of Neria's sensationalist claims and the uncomfortable feeling they elicited in the pit of her stomach.

The question seemed to give the mage pause, and after a moment's thought, she answered, "When I was brought to the Circle, I was so used to scrambling to survive that it had become second-nature. I didn't make a conscious decision to endure, it just happened that way. So instead of giving up and thinking of it as a punishment, I always saw it as the Templars trying to weaken us out of fear. And so I had to stay strong in other ways, in ways they couldn't control." Neria's roguish look appeared again. "According to many, my very existence is a curse. I figure if I keep living, I take away any power they imagine they have over me."

For all that she didn't like the mage, Elissa was beginning to find it hard not to at least respect her determination to succeed. Even so, it was taking all of her willpower not to respond to the mage's wild and possibly exaggerated tales of life in the Circle, and so Elissa tried to change the subject to something lighter. "Was there really nothing good about living in the Circle?"

Neria frowned thoughtfully, and her fingers moved unconsciously to the chain of her amulet. Finally, she said, "Anything decent about that place was twisted and warped by the Chantry's ideals."

Something flashed in the elf's eyes, and Elissa recognized the glint; she had seen it in her mother's eyes many times when she was anxious over her father, and had caught it in Oriana's gaze the night Fergus had marched off to war.

"Do you miss him?"

"What?" Neria asked, startled. "Who?"

"The man who gave you that," Elissa said, nodding at the sunburst amulet around Neria's neck. "You cling rather tightly to a symbol of a religion you don't agree with, so I would guess you simply care a great deal for the person who gave it to you. It's unlikely your brother gave you such a thing, according to what you told me about his origins, so it must have been a gift from a loved one – or a lover."

Colour flushed her cheeks and she looked away. "That's none of your business."

"Was he one of the ones you mentioned escaped with you? The one who liked to cause trouble in the kitchens?"

"Daylen? Of course not! He hated the Chantry more than I did, if possible," Neria said dismissively. There was an odd frown on her face, as though she had just thought of something important for the first time in days. It disappeared in an instant though, and she continued in a businesslike tone, "It doesn't matter who gave this to me. It has nothing to do with finding Alim."

"It would appear you miss at least some part of life in the Circle. Or someone there."

"I'm not talking about this anymore," Neria snapped, standing up. "I'm going to look for more firewood. Let me know when dinner's ready."

Neria didn't speak to her for the rest of the evening, and Elissa didn't push her. She told herself it was because she really didn't care what the mage had to say at all, but inwardly she knew that she had touched a nerve and it would be unwise to purse that avenue of conversation.

'At least for the time being,' she thought as she took her watch. 'She's hiding something, which isn't good. Although, she could just be holding back information for the same reason I am…'

The silence lasted into the next day as well, and despite the odd unnerved feeling it caused Elissa, she was hesitant to break it. She didn't want the mage to think she was curious, because that might invite more conversation about conditions in the Circle tower.

'Which I'm beginning to think might have a grain of truth in them,' she admitted to herself. Immediately she added, 'But only a small grain. And it would be wrong to judge the Circle based on what one mage tells me. I'll have to visit Kinloch Hold myself. Maybe I'll have to go there with the Wardens one day if they need to recruit mages.'

That brought feelings of guilt about Duncan and Elissa had to put those out of her mind as well. It had been four days since she had agreed to help Neria, a difficult decision and one which still caused feelings of reservation when she thought about it too much.

The day was cold and grey, and Elissa could smell moisture in the air. It was likely going to rain that night, and she wasn't looking forward to setting up camp in that kind of weather. The trees were getting fewer and farther between, overtaken by hilly terrain and rocky patches in the landscape that would no doubt become trails of mud once the storm started. That was even worse than the threat of no shelter, because the rain could wash away the tracks of any creature Elissa might try to hunt.

It was possible Neria might know of something that could be done, but Elissa was still hesitant to start a conversation. The mage seemed tense and on edge, and for the first time Elissa actually considered how the other girl must be feeling at the moment. Determined to find her brother or not, she was probably terrified inside.

'And I've not exactly been the most helpful in that respect,' she allowed inwardly. Every appeal for help or understanding the elf had made, Elissa had answered with scorn and grudging agreement. 'If Mother were alive she would rake me over the coals for being immature and uncouth.'

She glanced at the mage out of the corner of her eyes, and then sighed, her mind made up.

"I feel that I need to apologize…for my behaviour," she pronounced quietly, and Neria glanced up sharply. "Mage or not, you haven't actually attacked me or anything…and you are partially responsible for the fact that we didn't starve yesterday..." Elissa kept her eyes carefully away from the elf. "The last few weeks have just been one thing after another, and it has been more than a little difficult to process. I've simply been reacting to events as they happen, and when I think about them afterward…" She sighed. "The point is, I've been rather rude to you."

Now she did look up at Neria, who was frowning thoughtfully. "What brought this on?"

Elissa shrugged. "I've just been giving it some thought, and it seemed the proper course of action. I was raised to be polite to everyone, whether I liked them or not, and in the case where I insulted someone, whether intentionally or unintentionally, I was expected to apologize."

Neria nodded thoughtfully, and after a moment asked, "Do you nobles do that often?"

"Do what?"

"Apologize for the sake of apologizing without actually feeling sorry?" Neria inquired. "It seems a little dishonest to me."

Elissa snorted, more out of amusement than contempt. "You know, I used to say the same thing. I always hated the way most nobles could say one thing and mean something completely different. It was irritating."

"Does that mean you're actually apologizing because you genuinely feel sorry, or is it just a reflex?" Neria asked.

Elissa narrowed her eyes. "Well, until about a minute ago it was the former reason, but I'm beginning to rethink the wisdom in that."

"Too late – I accept your apology," Neria told her mock-gravely. "_Ma __serannas._"

"What's that mean?"

"It means 'thank you'."

"Well…you're welcome. Or the elvish equivalent thereof." They were quiet a spell, and then Elissa asked, "Is that where you were going to go, after you escaped? To the Dalish?"

"It was a possibility," Neria answered vaguely. "Alim wanted to find them, to see if they were perhaps the people he belonged to. I briefly considered the Imperium – if any place would praise magic, it would be there – but in the end I decided that was too much of a gamble."

"That was probably for the best. You'd more likely be captured and sold into slavery than be given very much freedom," Elissa pointed out. "The Imperium is responsible for the fall of your people's land."

"Elvhenan," Neria stated, raising her eyebrows. "I'm surprised you knew that."

"It's one of the few events relating to the elves that my tutor bothered to teach me about. Otherwise I'm rather ignorant of the elvish perspective."

Neria seemed surprised. "You actually sound regretful of that."

"Let me put it this way – I would rather have learned about the history of the elves than learned how to embroider or how to dance the Remigold as was expected of me."

"Is embroidery hard?"

"No, it's just mind-numbingly boring. I always wanted adventure," Elissa stated. She sighed. "My father used to say that adventure was just someone else knee-deep in shite far from home."

Neria burst out into startled laughter. "That's one way to put it."

"What about you?" Elissa asked when the mage's laughter had subsided. "Did you expect life outside the tower would be like this?"

"Excepting the crazed Templars, yes," Neria said thoughtfully. "Any mage who manages to get out of the tower knows it's going to be hard to remain free. And it's especially hard because not only am I a mage, I'm elvish and female. If I'm not going to be pursued for one reason, it will be for another. The best Alim and I can hope for is that the Dalish will take us, and even that…might not work out."

"You could always join the Wardens," Elissa suggested.

"Are you offering?"

"No! Nothing like that – it's just that Duncan told me that the Order is one of the few where elves and mages are treated the same as humans."

Neria leered. "I'm touched that you're worried for my well-being."

"Don't push your luck," Elissa grumbled sourly. "I already told you that you're not a bad sort for a mage – so far." When Neria continued to smirk, Elissa added, "Besides, if you did miraculously end up getting recruited you could always die defending the world from darkspawn. Then I wouldn't have to put up with you anymore."

"Charming."

"I do try."

"Going to Wardens might have been an option, once," Neria answered. "Perhaps one day it will be an option again. Only the Creators know." She shot Elissa a questioning glance. "If you had not been recruited to the Grey Wardens, what would you wish to do?"

"I would still be going to Ostagar," Elissa answered immediately. "As I told you before, I need to find Fergus, and it's my hope that the Wardens still wish to retain my services."

"But what if they don't?"

"Obviously I would look for Aedan."

"And if both your brothers were dead?"

"It's a distinct possibility," Elissa replied tightly. Then she sighed, and added, "If they were both dead and the Wardens did not recruit me to help fight the Blight, I would fall back on the support of my mother's family as well as the King to help me regain my lands. Then I suppose I would govern over them."

"That doesn't sound like you want to do it," Neria noticed. "I would have thought most nobles would be enthusiastic at the prospect of ruling over their lands."

"I've never wanted to rule anything," Elissa answered. "But that is the duty I have to my family and my bloodline."

"Having to do something you don't want to simply because someone else says so is terrible," the mage remarked earnestly. She smiled sadly. "It makes me wonder what is worse – being trapped by other people or being trapped by your own morals."

"I'm not trapped by my morals. It's my responsibility to rule my lands and the people on them," Elissa protested.

"Why does anyone have to rule the lands at all? Why not let the peasants rule themselves?"

"That wouldn't work."

"How do you know?" Neria challenged. "It might work very well."

Elissa's brows drew together as she considered how to explain the matter to the elf. After a moment, she said, "Pretend for one minute that your Circle tower was free of Templars and mages controlled their own affairs."

"An improvement that I dream about to no end," Neria chirped.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you would see it that way," Elissa said dismissively. "The question I would pose to you is this: would everyone be able to simply do as they wished? Study forbidden and dangerous arts just because they wished to?"

"I would imagine there would be some kind of guidelines in place, we wouldn't be total idiots," Neria answered.

"Yes, but who would come up with those? Who would define them?"

The mage thought about it. "The First Enchanter, most likely. Perhaps a council of mages representing each of the fraternities."

"But why? Why not simply let everyone come up with their own law code without any kind of authority?" Elissa pressed. "Would you trust every one of your fellow mages to know right from wrong? Or even to care."

"N-no."

"Exactly," Elissa stated. "Some people – I suppose whether they're mages or not – are just out there for themselves. They can't be trusted not to improve their lot in life by any means possible."

"But that still doesn't mean that the Templars and the Chantry should control us," Neria argued. "Especially not them because they hate us so."

"That's not an argument I'm going to start back up with you again," Elissa put in. "The point is that you agree that even free of influence, the Circle would require leadership, yes?"

"Fine. Yes."

"It's just the same with the Bannorn. There are some people that extort and abuse others, and without someone who has the power to step in and stop them, such abuses go unchecked."

"What about if the one abusing the power is the one _in_ power?" the mage challenged. "I'm sure most of you nobles treat your peasants worse than slaves."

"I didn't say it was a perfect system," Elissa said uncomfortably. "But it's better than no system. And the King and other members of the nobility are trying to make it better. Still, it's hard to change hundreds of years of custom and tradition. You can't just make something change overnight." She paused, and then added, "Not unless something devastating happens to make people see the need for change."

Neria was watching her now with something that might have been an incarnation of respect. "You seem to have given this much thought."

"My parents taught me what my responsibilities would be from a young age," Elissa explained. "Even before I merely became the spare successor. Should the Wardens decide that my services are not needed at Ostagar, I will carry that duty out. Whether I like it or not."

She stared down at her boots, hoping that Neria didn't notice her chin beginning to tremble. It was too bad that it had taken losing everything to realize her responsibilities. She wished she could go back in time and slap sense into the willful child that had been preparing to desert her home to chase adventure and glory.

"What's that?" Neria suddenly asked, and Elissa glanced up. They had been walking up a steep incline, and until that moment Elissa hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. The closer they got to the upper part of the hill, though, the more Elissa could see of dark, billowing smoke.

She made herself move faster, practically jogging up the slope. Beside her, Neria puffed with effort but showed no sign of allowing herself to be left behind.

Once at the top, they looked down to the foot of the hill, and Elissa felt her heart sink at the familiar sight.

Neria turned to her, pale-faced and her mouth set in a grim line. "I told you we would pick up the trail."

* * *

><p>As usual, thanks go out to Cobar713 for looking over this despite his stressful school schedule. Also, thanks to you readers, you're awesome!<p>

TBC


	13. Chapter Thirteen

_**Battle Maiden**_  
>by ErtheChilde<p>

"_**My father once told me that adventure is just someone else knee-deep in shite far from home. Maker, but I wish I had listened to him."  
><strong>_

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Thirteen:<em>

With the exception of the telltale cloud of smoke that hovered over the odd assortment of dwellings, the settlement was unlike anything Elissa had ever seen before.

Located at the foot of the hill and straddling the small inlet of water, at least a dozen timber-built houses had been constructed atop stilt-like staves. She imagined they had been driven into the ground deep beneath the surface and were probably supported by thick rock or stone in an effort to keep the surrounding water from eroding the foundations. The round roofs of the houses were thatched with wattle-and-daub and rose into a point that most likely allowed smoke to escape, while the doors were little more than animal skins stretched over the entrances. Each building was connected by a series of gangways and what might have been drawbridges, all crudely made. Every other building had a wooden dory tied on nearby, suggesting the inhabitants fished by trade.

The smoke was emanating from somewhere behind the settlement, and from the smell of rank ash and spoiled meat, Elissa knew what they would find when they got there.

"Keep sharp," she told Neria, whose jaw was set in determination.

They moved quietly toward the empty looking village. Elissa had the longbow out and an arrow half-nocked while Neria glanced around shiftily. To an outsider she looked deceptively unarmed, but Elissa knew just how fast a fireball could be called to hand.

"What kind of people do you think live here?" Elissa wondered quietly as they moved down the hill. 'Or rather 'lived', considering the probable context.'

"Chasind," Neria said quietly. "At least I…think so."

Elissa blinked. It hadn't occurred to her, but the style of stilt-houses sounded like one of the accounts about Chasind that she had read in her grandfather's library.

"But the Wilders don't come up this far," Elissa reasoned. "They're pretty much bound to the Korcari Wilds, unless they venture out in raiding parties. This village seems too…permanent…to be raiders."

"Avvars?" Neria suggested.

"No, they would consider this territory part of the lowlands," Elissa answered. "Besides, I don't think Avvars would have _that_ erected outside their homes."

'That' appeared to be a makeshift shrine, carved into the large rock that marked the path to the stilt houses. Surrounded by foreign looking symbols and offerings of dried flowers and fruit within the grotto was a carved likeness of what Elissa could only guess to be Andraste. The pose of the statue was a common one, seen in most Chantry's throughout Ferelden; the prophetess's face was upturned and her left palm was open to hold the sacred flame.

"That is an anomaly," Neria agreed, appearing nonplussed.

Rather than test the durability of the gangways just yet, Elissa motioned for them to wander around the outskirts of the settlement. The ground around the inlet of water was muddy, and she surmised that the farther away from the village they went the less stable the ground would become. They just made it around the last bend of the village when Neria made a gagging noise.

"Creators preserve me, what is that _smell_?"

"I think you can guess," Elissa murmured quietly, striding forward with an inner wince. She was careful to breathe only through her mouth.

Her instincts about the acrid odour had proven correct, it seemed. The charred remains of the giant communal pyre were still relatively intact, or at least in better condition than any of those she and Duncan had come upon before. Some of the carcasses that lay so carefully arranged still had crispy flesh sticking to their bones and hair sprouting from their skulls. All of the deceased bore evidence of having been decapitated and placed according to Andrastian custom, but somehow the placement gave the impression of shoddiness.

'This was hurried,' she realized with a start, staring at the macabre grin of the nearest skull. 'They're not so concerned with being careful as they were before, it appears.'

Behind her, Neria was throwing up.

Elissa sent her an unimpressed look. "You have an awfully weak stomach for a mage. Doesn't your kind use all manner of disgusting ingredients in your spell work? Newt eyes and frog toes and the like?"

"Ha-ha-ha, very funny," Neria said defensively as she wiped her mouth.

"In all seriousness, though, I would have thought you had seen such a thing before," Elissa continued. "If you were following Duncan and I, you would have seen the other sites likes this."

"I saw them, but I did so from a distance. And upwind," Neria retorted with a scowl. "I didn't realize it was so…pungent."

"It's charred flesh. Of course it's going to be pungent."

"Yes, that's extremely helpful," the elf groaned. She turned away from the site. "I'm going to check the houses. Maybe someone survived."

"Given how these fanatics operate, it's highly unlikely," Elissa remarked absently, her eyes lingering on the corpse of a child who couldn't have been older than Oren. 'What kind of fiend does this to a child, whether in defence of their faith or not?' She frowned. 'That is if Neria's telling the truth about the matter.'

She shook her head. Something told her that the mage had been completely honest with her regarding everything she had told her. As much as she didn't like the idea of demented Templars, Elissa hadn't been able to detect any lies in the mage's story.

'Of course that doesn't account for the things she hasn't said, and I know she's still hiding something,' Elissa thought. 'Aedan did once tell me that the best way to lie was to tell the truth…'

She left the pyre behind, venturing up the nearest gangway carefully; whether these people lived over the water every day, she was wary of the craftsmanship of primitives. She moved silently through the wooden paths, pushing aside the animal hides to glance inside every other domicile.

The houses were all rather similar on the inside. The walls were a framework of timbers carefully pegged together, their intervals rammed with clay, chalk or flints, all of which was covered with lime. This style of building probably kept the elements out better than the simple wooden structures that made up much of peasant hovels of the Bannorn. Each home had been furnished with crude wooden furniture, most of it overturned, and in some of them she could see bloodstains along the floor. The only occupants of the stilt-houses appeared to be the rats and birds that feasted on the rotting corpses of several unlucky dogs.

By the time she caught up to Neria, the mage had obviously stopped her search for survivors and was instead delving through any sacks and barrels that she came across within the houses.

"I really don't think you should be doing that," Elissa told her.

"We're low on every kind of supply," the elf retorted as she continued to rifle through an ash-covered sack just outside of one dwelling. "You said yourself that game is going to get harder to find. Unless you want to starve to death before we find my brother, I don't think we can afford not to borrow some provisions."

"Borrowing implies returning," Elissa grumbled, crossing her arms.

"And if they were still alive, I'm sure they would appreciate that distinction."

"It just doesn't seem right, stealing from the dead," Elissa protested half-heartedly as her sense of common decency warred with growing practicality.

"Why don't you take your scruples and wait for me back on shore?" the mage suggested. "That way you don't have to be part of such an unforgivable crime as trying to survive."

"Yes, because that's obviously what my problem is," Elissa sighed, leaving the elven mage to her larceny.

She wandered back in the direction of the pyre, intending to look for any more clues that might tell which direction the Templars had taken off in or even indications of their numbers.

'If Duncan were here he would say I was being foolish,' Elissa thought as she shuffled around one of the narrow passages. 'Of course, he'd have said that the minute I agreed to help Neria, but that's beside the point.' She sighed. 'He also said I would have to get used to doing things I didn't want to do.'

She paused outside one of the larger huts, considering it cagily, and then looked around to make sure the mage wasn't about to pop up. That was all she needed was comments from a smart-alecky elf to make an already uncomfortable situation more difficult. If she was going to get used to appropriating objects from the dead, she didn't want anyone to see her do it the first time.

'Shameful. Absolutely shameful,' she thought. Disturbingly enough, her inner admonitions sounded eerily similar to her mother's voice.

She slipped quietly into the small dwelling, glancing furtively about as though expecting the owners of the home to jump out shouting, "Thief!", but it remained empty. As in the other houses, the crude furniture was in disarray, and there were bloodstains on the floors that seemed black in the lack of light – dragging marks from the look of it. Knowing what she knew about the bodies, she imagined the inhabitants had been ambushed, beheaded and then dragged from their home.

Her attention fell upon a handmade wicker trunk at the far end of the hut, still open as though the owner had been in the act of searching through it before his untimely death. Stepping closer, she whistled appreciatively at the contents and brushed her fingertips along the hilt of a sword covered in leather rags.

'The man who lived here must have been elderly,' she mused sadly. It was the only reason she could think of for a man to have his weapon stored away rather than carrying it full time. 'Most likely there were others to provide the first line of defense.' She bit her lip. 'Except this time it didn't work quite so well.'

She hesitantly drew the sword from its resting place, and her eyes widened in surprise the farther out she brought it. 'Oh, _beauty_."

The blade was flatter than any greatsword she had ever seen and a hair lighter than the blade she had been practicing with. This one seemed to make up for the lack of heft with the razor sharpness of the edge. Ordinarily a thinner blade might offer the danger of breaking in combat, but this one had been made of folded grey iron, a less brittle material than regular iron. It seemed as though the maker had crafted it specifically to withstand great force while capitalizing on the holder's speed and flexibility. It would be a good fit for an average, wiry man.

'Or a woman,' she mused idly.

Immediately, her thoughts ground to a halt.

'Necessity or not, I cannot take this,' she told herself firmly, even as her hold on the hilt tightened. There were carvings all up the polished wooden hilt, inlaid with what could have been bronze, but she wasn't sure. 'Such a well-made weapon should rest with its former owner, not be pilfered from his belongings.' She looked down at the blade for another long moment, admiring the workmanship with regret and barely restrained covetousness. She squared her shoulders. 'I'm going to lay it to rest with the dead.'

Before she could talk herself out of it she strode out of the little dwelling and moved purposefully down the gangway. The smell of the pyre became pronounced again the closer she got, but she continued forward and placed the blade amid the ashes of the deceased.

She bowed her head and murmured a prayer.

"_All__ men __are__ the__ Work__ of__ our Maker's Hands, from the lowest slaves to the highest kings. Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children are hated and accursed by the Maker.__"_ The child's corpse caught her attention again, and she clenched her fists. "May you find peace by the Maker's side and know that those responsible for your deaths will be brought to justice. I'm not exactly sure how…but know that it will be done."

She drew back from the communal funerary pit, ready to go leave the site, when something on the ground suddenly caught her eye. With a frown, she bent down to retrieve the small object. In the background, she could hear footsteps.

'Probably Neria coming to show me what she pilfered,' Elissa thought absently, running her thumb over the object.

At first she thought it to be an odd-looking trinket or piece of debris that might have been scattered by the flames, but upon closer inspection of the texture, she realized it was human hair. It seemed to be a band woven from hair in knot work that was more complicated than a simple braid. It was frayed at the edges, as though it had been ripped off or sliced in such a way as to break.

'Human hair of a rather interesting shade of red,' she realized. A shade she had only ever seen once in recent memory, on the head of the woman she travelled with. 'Can't be a coincidence.'

She put the braid into a flap in her armour for safekeeping and opened her mouth to call out for the mage, when a sudden skidding sound took her attention. She glanced up just in time to see a figure in skins and wielding a rather impressive maul vault over the gangway.

"Desecrator!" he bellowed, landing several feet away from her and preparing to bring the maul down on her head.

Elissa reacted without thinking, ducking back to grab the flatblade from the pyre. She raised it in a high guard just in time to take the blow which sent a vibrating rippled all down her arm.

'I was right about this thing being able to take a hit,' she thought numbly as the strange wild man pulled back to prepare a second blow.

Her startled mind had half-expected it to be a Templar that had simply been lying in wait, but then her thoughts caught up with her eyes and she managed a split-second examination.

'Definitely not a Templar.'

He wore no heavy plate, for one; in fact, beneath his tanned leather breastplate he wore nothing, and despite his thickly muscled form moved with a fluidity that made her jealous.

That envy disappeared as he brought his weapon down hard again. She grunted with effort as she caught it with a high guard. There was no time to feel triumphant as he pulled back and swung down on her other side. She shifted, falling naturally into the stance that Duncan had taught her and parried this blow too.

The sound of blood pumping in her ears blocked out everything else as her mind raced. Her opponent was unlike the knight she had faced in Highever. His moves were fast and fluid, and if she wasn't careful, she was going to end up with more than just a shattered arm.

His swings were not as wild as she had come to expect from someone who wielded a maul, almost sweeping in a figure-eight pattern. For a time she managed to meet each blow, the long hours of practice taking over.

'Don't get comfortable with a pattern, or he'll – !'

He suddenly cut the maul upwards, aiming for her left thigh. She whirled out of the way, twisting around to swing her sword at his neck in what would be a fatal blow.

He dodged, receiving no more than a shallow scrape across his collarbone as he did so. Then, to her shock, he dropped his maul and, dodging around her blade, wrapped his hands around her cross-guard. For an eternity of a second she could only stare at him, wide-eyed, and then he used his momentum to push the sword backward. The pommel struck her in the chest and sent her flying backward.

She landed on the boggy earth, the wind knocked from her lungs and her thoughts a muddle.

Her tossed the sword away, almost as though it burned him, and had his maul above her in an instant. A sneer played on his lips and his eyes were wild with rage as he prepared to crush her.

_Bang!_

The wild man went careening several yards away, as though he had been punched by a giant fist. Elissa's head whipped around to see Neria stalking down the gangway, her right hand glowing green.

"Now, I haven't lived within society very long, but that doesn't seem very polite," the mage remarked airily. She winked at Elissa. "That's three times I've saved your life now, if you count procuring you hunting tools."

"I don't," she gasped, stumbling to her feet.

"Fine. Two then. Either way, I'm still up by – "

Elissa heard the familiar sound of a bow being drawn and dove for Neria. "Down!"

She grabbed Neria and pulled her behind the pyre. Arrows whistled overhead and Elissa realized just how close they had come to being impaled.

"We're square again," she told Neria breathlessly, peeking around the structure. She saw several figures advancing down the gangway, weapons raised.

Like the one who had attacked her, the folk that faced Elissa looked nothing like she had ever seen, although now that she was able to study them without fear of taking a maul to the face, her thoughts drew up the only possible conclusion.

'They _are_ Chasind. Or at least, some variation of them.'

Their skin was dark and leathery, probably from spending most of their life out in the elements, which is what all of the accounts said of them. What threw her off, though, was their manner of dress. Instead of the hide and skin clothing she had heard that they wore, their clothing approximated what the average peasant of the Bannorn might clothe themselves in. Elissa thought "approximated" was the best word, as their garb still evoked a kind of wildness in it. Where scuffing had taken its toll, ragged strips of leather and animal hide served as patches.

All of the strangers were adorned with necklaces and earrings made of animal teeth and bones. One, a woman Elissa realized upon closer scrutiny, had feathers dangling from her earlobes. They were all armed with bows, although at least half of them carried secondary weapons like mauls and two-handed swords strapped to their backs. None of them looked particularly welcoming at the moment.

Neria muttered something under her breath and Elissa saw a spark of blue energy form in the palm of her hand. She reached over and clutched the mage's wrist, shaking her head. "Not a good idea. We don't want to give them more cause to attack."

"We didn't give them cause before!" Neria hissed.

"Other than you practically catapulting their man across the shore."

"Are you complaining?"

"No, but I'm sure they've taken it as a bit of an insult. You should apologize."

Neria rolled her eyes. "I'll get right on that. Hey, here's a better idea – get the brute I saved you from to apologize, seeing as how he attacked you first."

"Well, he might have been justified," Elissa shot back. She glanced over and saw that he was stirring feebly, most likely stunned. "If I saw someone poking around the site of a massacre, I'd feel rather indignant myself." She peeked around the pyre again. While their bows were still raised, no one showed a sign of firing on them. The woman with the feathers was obviously having as heated a discussion with one of her comrades as Elissa was having with Neria. "Stay down."

"What about you?"

"I'm wearing armour, remember?"

"Not on your head, you're not!"

Elissa ignored her, slowly moving out of her crouch.

She put a hand up tentatively, waving it in a slow manner to get their attention without prompting another volley of arrows. "Don't shoot!"

The woman made a hand gesture and the men behind her lowered their weapons.

"Thank you," Elissa said in relief. "Really, this is all just a misunder –"

Something heavy and moving at high speed slammed into her from her left, causing her to let go of the sword. Before she could gather her wits about her she had been tackled to the ground, her arms bent behind her in a vice-like grip and someone's knee on the small of her back.

" – standing," she choked out, spitting out the loamy mud.

"Elissa!" she heard Neria call from behind.

"Don't do anything!" Elissa yelled back, although her voice was uncomfortably muffled by the ground; she could just imagine that the mage was already calling up a barrage of flames. "You'll make it worse!"

"Silence!" boomed a voice from the collection of strangers. The one that had been conversing with the woman strode forward. Obviously he was the leader of their party. He looked to be in his thirties, broad chested, with a shaven head and wild black beard. His dark eyes were crackling in fury, but to Elissa's surprise they were focused on her assailant and not her. "Drosten meqq Tarain, control yourself."

His words were clipped and he trilled his 'r's so thickly that it took some concentration to understand him.

"They have desecrated the dead," the man holding Elissa snarled. It was the one who had attacked her to begin with. Evidently he had recovered well from being hurled like a large stone. Despite the knee in her back, she could sense that his chest was heaving from anger and exertion. "Even your beloved Speaker says that desecrating the dead is punishable by death."

'Oh, this doesn't sound good,' Elissa thought grimly.

"We didn't kill or desecrate anyone!" Neria snapped, and Elissa sensed her crawling out from behind the pyre. The men standing nearest had their bows pointed at her almost instantly, and she didn't come any closer.

"You would have us deny the proof our eyes behold?" the man named Drosten demanded. His knee moved off of Elissa's back, and she found herself being hauled upward. Her arms were still twisted painfully behind her, but at least she wasn't kissing the dirt any longer. "This place stinks of death."

"That wasn't us," Elissa cried, addressing her appeal to the leader and trying not to feel utterly silly with mud splattered all down her front. "This village was deserted when we got here, and the inhabitants were already dead. We went to see if anyone had survived –"

"So that you could steal without reprimand," Drosten accused. "We have caught you looting the belongings of the dead." He pointed to the two-handed blade lying on the ground. "No one who saw Unen meqq Drest in combat can argue that this is not his blade. And this _lowlander_ dares to touch it, let alone wield it against one of our own."

"Well, you did attack me," Elissa couldn't help grumble, but she held back any other arguments when she heard the disgruntled murmurs starting among the strangers. She fought down a curse. 'I couldn't just leave it in the hut, could I? I had to give in to romantic notions of propriety…'

"You were stealing?" she heard Neria mutter in mock-surprise. "That's utterly shameful."

"We didn't do this!" Elissa protested, ignoring the elf. "I brought this from one of the huts to place it with its owner – or, what's left of its owner –" She winced at how bad that sounded and continued, " – to mark the grave. That was all."

'Please don't let them find out Neria actually _was_ stealing,' she added silently.

"Come, brother, we do not know that they have desecrated anything," the woman with the feathers said to Elissa's captor. Her eyes flicked doubtfully to the pyre. "The Speaker has said that burning the bodies of the dead is the proper way to see to them. You know that."

"I have called the man a fool on more than one occasion, Eitne, and this is no different," he growled, and Elissa could hear the scowl in his voice.

"Do not utter insults against the Speaker, for he voices the word of the God and His Bride," the leader warned. "If Ciardha can abide by his teachings, so too can you. Do not make me regret allowing you to reside among us."

There was a heated pause.

"Forgive me, Alcalored, I did not aim to be irreverent," Drosten murmured finally.

The leader made a motion and Elissa's arms were suddenly free of Drosten's grip. She rolled her shoulders and wrists, trying to get the feeling back into them and studied the man. To her surprise he was young – probably in his twenties, maybe even Fergus's age – and several inches taller than she. His wavy black hair reached to his shoulders, and his black eyes considered her heatedly. Somehow, he seemed wilder-looking than any of his comrades.

"Custom or not, an entire village is empty – most likely slaughtered – except for these two strangers," he was saying loudly. "I would ask what they are doing here – lowlanders do not venture into these parts."

"I would know this as well," Alcalored said, his eyes falling on Elissa. He frowned. "But this too is not something that we decide. It is clear to me by your attire and your scars that you are a warrior, and so you will be accorded the status of one. Even if you are an outsider." Now he looked at Neria. "I cannot promise the same for the witch. The Bride's words are clear on the laws of magic, even if you are one of the Forest People. It is old Ciardha and the Speaker who will decide your fates." His attention returned to Elissa. "Will you come willingly?"

She looked around at the bows that could be ready to shoot within seconds, and the hostile faces that surrounded them. She didn't need much imagination to think of what these folk might do to her and Neria if they refused to comply.

She cleared her throat. "It would seem we have little choice."

"Of course we have a choice!" Neria hissed. "One word and I could blow them away with a lightning storm and we could go on with our lives."

"Now is definitely not the time for that," Elissa retorted firmly, barely wrenched her jaws apart. She didn't doubt Neria's power, but knew that one well-aimed arrow could put an end to either of them before there was a chance to escape.

"Then we hold you to your oath," Alcalored declared. "We shall travel faster if you are not bound, however if either of you attempts escape I make no promises for how you shall be treated."

"It will be as you say," Elissa answered. 'At least the longer they let us live, the better chance I have of coming up with a plan. I hope.'

They did not leave right away.

While Elissa and Neria were ushered away from the mass grave, several of the strangers moved forward to examine the remains. They spoke in low voices, which Elissa couldn't make out, but she supposed they were simply saying their farewells. Two of their number suddenly broke out into low, keening wails that made the hairs on the back of Elissa's arm stand up.

Not wanting to intrude on the privacy of their grieving, Elissa turned to wander a few paces, when she was jostled roughly by Drosten as he went past.

"Take up your sword, lowlander," he told her coldly over his shoulder. "You may yet need it."

"My sword?" Elissa asked, nonplussed. When he gestured to the two-hander on the damp earth, she gaped. "But I thought you said – "

"You have wielded it and drawn blood," he told her stonily. "By law, it is yours if you wish it. If not, it will stay where it lies and rust in the elements, for we may not take it up. Wielding the weapon of one who yet lives brings great misfortune." He sneered. "Even more so, as you stole it from the dead without having it bequeathed to you. Anyone who tried to take that blade from you now would be as cursed as you are."

Elissa glowered, and then purposefully bent down and picked up the sword. "There are no such things as curses." He shrugged and wandered off. Elissa watched him depart, and then leaned over to Neria. "Right?"

"Depends on who you ask," the mage answered vaguely.

"Aren't you helpful?"

"You know, for a suspicious maniac, he's a comely specimen," Neria went on conversationally as she watched him join Alcalored and Eitne in a whispered conversation. At Elissa's look of disbelief, she protested, "What? I'm allowed to look."

"I'll remind you when it's your head he's trying to crush with a maul," Elissa muttered under her breath. Comely or not, she felt sure that Drosten wouldn't hesitate to strike either of them down if given the chance.

(-)

Elissa and Neria had been travelling south-west toward the Frostbacks, but the wild folk led them south-east from the ruins of the village. It seemed they had come from a place far away, because it took the rest of the day to reach their destination. Neria kept sending her angry glances, and Elissa knew the mage was furious that she had so easily allowed them to be sidetracked.

'Well, it was either that or be skewered by some Wilder's bow,' Elissa thought defensively. 'If they even are Wilders, which I'm not quite sure of.' Unable to hold back her curiosity much longer, she drew closer to the woman, Eitne, as she walked nearby. "Forgive me if I seem rude, but…who are you people? Are you Chasind?"

The woman gave her a cold look that resembled her angry brother's rather too closely. "That is the name lowlanders call us. Its meaning is an insult and to speak it aloud is considered vulgar. Not that one of your kind would think so."

Elissa ignored the slight, which was a mark of how much travelling with Neria had altered her. Not a week before she would have tried defend her background and her station, but the elf had made such a point of calling her out on her class's failings that she had become all-but desensitized. Instead, she inquired, "What does it mean? No one ever told me."

Eitne seemed surprised, probably because the rather uncomfortable hostage situation wasn't exactly the arena for a friendly academic conversation, but she answered nonetheless. "Roughly translated from the old speech, it means 'those who shall be subdued'."

"Oh," Elissa mumbled.

"Your kind seems to have a tendency to give everyone but themselves insulting names," Neria commented loudly. She spoke to Eitne. "They call us knife-ears."

"Ganging up on me isn't going to put you more in their favor, you know," Elissa told her conversationally.

"It can't hurt to try," the mage shrugged.

Elissa rolled her eyes and returned her attention to Eitne. "What is the proper name to call your people, then?"

Again, surprise overtook the wild woman's features. "Our ancestors called themselves Dusmaini – 'People of the Mist'. Those who still reside in the Wilds think of themselves by that name."

"Those that live in the Wilds – are you saying your people _don__'__t_ live in the Wilds?" Elissa inquired.

"Not for seasons now," Eitne confirmed. "When the Speaker came with the words of the Bride, only some of us wished to hear them. The more he spoke, the more the others grew hostile." Her expression grew angry. "Many of the Dusmaini banded together and said that those who wished to learn the words of the God would have to leave the lands of our ancestors lest we taint them with lies." Now she sounded sad. "It was hard to leave the lands of my forebears, but the Speaker says only when the Bride's words are spoken from every corner of the earth will the God return his attentions to us. It is our duty to everyone to learn the words."

"But what about your own faith?" Neria demanded, sounding appalled. "Surely your own beliefs are just as valid as anything the Chantry spouts."

"These are my beliefs," Eitne said defensively. "I still believe in the spirits of our ancestors and the power of nature, but now they have a purpose. Even Ciardha, our healer and shaman, says there is truth in the Bride's teachings."

"Truth, yes, even the Chant has its moments," Neria said dismissively. "But the Chantry would have you believe in an absolute truth. How can anything, even truth, be absolute?"

Eitne opened her mouth to answer, and then frowned. Finally, she shook her head.

"Obviously you are one who does not know the meaning of faith," she stated contemptuously. "I am strong in my faith and will not allow a witch to corrupt it." And she moved away from them with an air of finality.

Neria gaped, a counter-argument obviously brewing in her mind, but Elissa silenced her with a glare. "You had to comment, didn't you? Is your hatred of the Chantry so great that you can't even respect someone believing in it when they choose to?"

Neria narrowed her eyes. "I hope you see the irony in you lecturing me about tolerance."

"I have been nothing but tolerant about your beliefs," Elissa shot back under her breath. "If you recall, I have never once uttered anything insulting about your religion or your Creators or anything of that sort." Neria attempt to interject, but Elissa went on doggedly, "I might have twitted you about being a deceitful mage once or twice, granted, but I've never remarked on matters of the spiritual variety." She took a deep breath before she went on. Having a silent shouting argument while trying not to attract the attention of the Wilders, or Dusmaini, as they were apparently called, was difficult. "You, on the other hand, have not lost a moment to tell me how corrupt and deceitful the Chantry is – obviously assuming that just because I believe in the Maker and Andraste I agree with everything the Chantry does."

"But you do," Neria pointed out.

Elissa rolled her eyes. "I agree with everything they're _supposed _to do, and I have never personally known them to deviate from that. And you can tell me horror stories about the Chantry all you want, but until I have seen such things myself I can only assume you're speaking out of spite and resentment rather than any actual truth."

"What do you call crazed Templars cutting people's heads off and burning them down to their bones?" Neria hissed, obviously not wanting to be overheard by the surrounding converts.

"I call it an anomaly," Elissa retorted, also in a low voice. "You can't prove that every Templar would go on a killing spree. You said yourself that some are decent."

Neria eyed her thoughtfully, and then nodded slowly. "All right, I will concede the point." There was a mulish glint in her eye. "But I am telling the truth about everything else."

It was the most compromise Elissa would ever get from the mage on that subject, she knew.

She suddenly remembered what she had found before they had been ambushed by the Wilder folk, and drew it out of her armour.

"You might want to see this. I found it back in the village," she told the mage quietly.

Neria's eyes widened.

"Alim!" she breathed, snatching the band from Elissa. It appeared Elissa's earlier theory had been correct. "He was here!"

"Are you sure?" Elissa asked.

"Of course I'm sure, this is his," Neria snapped. "I made it for him on his name day two years ago – well, the day I decided would be his name day, anyhow. It had a protection spell woven into it." She clutched the small strip. "Why would he get rid of it?"

"That's a very good question," Elissa said with a frown. "You don't think he…might have been caught at the village after all?"

"No," Neria said with such fervor that Elissa found herself believing her. "If they had caught and killed Alim, they would have started travelling back to the Circle, and there have been no indications to suggest they've backtracked yet. They're still searching for him. Which means we have to keep searching, if we can get out of the mess you got us into."

"Oh, _I_ got us into?"

"If you had just let me electrocute them –"

"You're the reason mages have a bad reputation."

By the time they reached their journey's end, the sun was setting behind the clouds and the temperature had dropped sharply. The settlement that the Wilder folk brought them to was about twice as large as the one that had been devastated, and much livelier. Like the latter, all of the houses were round and built on stilts over the water. The surrounding area was green and wet, with marsh to either side of the compound. Beaten pathways surrounded the area of the village that rested on solid ground, while small boats were tied on beside the farthest huts that were built over water.

At the appearance of their party, people began to gather along the gangways to chatter and point excitedly. Evidently the people here did not suffer from shyness or any sense of decorum. Women nursed their infants unabashedly, while children weaved in and out of the way in ankle-high water. Elissa was surprised to see that the majority of people were young, with only two elderly men in thick cloaks watching their approach with silent dignity. Elissa wondered if this had something to do with the living conditions or something else.

"Drosten, fetch old Ciardha," Alcalored instructed when they reached the edge of the village. The other members of the party had hurried off, most likely to give their fellow villagers news of the day's events. "Eitne will call the Speaker."

Eitne disappeared quickly, and after another cold glare aimed at Elissa, Drosten did as well.

Elissa watched him go and wondered, "What exactly is his problem?"

"Drosten is a special circumstance," Alcalored said quietly, and Elissa jumped in surprise. She hadn't expected anyone to answer her. It occurred to her that perhaps these people didn't know how to interpret rhetorical questions. "He is not here for the same reasons as the rest of our people. Eitne is his sister, and she was one of the first to convert to the teachings of the Bride. Drosten never did."

"So why is he here?" Neria wanted to know. "No offense meant, but if it were me, I would prefer to live among a community whose faith I shared."

"He came to protect Eitne – from her own folly, as he often puts it," Alcalored explained. "Obviously, the Speaker hopes that one day Drosten will see the truth in the words and convert by his own volition, and so he is permitted to stay." He sighed. "But I fear Drosten is better suited to the old ways. His heart is not open to the God and His Bride."

He didn't say anything more on the subject, most likely because Drosten had returned. He was in deep conversation with the older woman he was leading.

The woman was middle aged, possibly in her forties but looking a decade or so older. She was rangy and dark-haired as the rest of the people, but there was a good deal of grey in her tresses. Like Drosten, her clothing was unlike the Wilders attempts at northern peasant attire; she wore leathers and the pelt of a wolf around her shoulders. Gold bands studded with amber were pushed up her bare arms, and her hands were worn and capable, as though she had spent a lifetime working with them. Dark blue symbols were painted on every part of her exposed skin.

"These are the outsiders?" she asked in a reedy voice. She narrowed her eyes at Elissa. "And this is the one who holds the blade of Unen meqq Drest?"

"Yes, shaman," Drosten affirmed.

The old woman snorted. "Hmph."

Anything more she might have added to that was interrupted by the appearance of Eitne and the man Elissa took to be the mysterious Speaker.

His appearance gave such a stark contrast that Elissa was momentarily stunned. He was a baby-faced man with the look of someone who had lost a lot of weight rather quickly and clear blue eyes that crinkled at the edges. His light brown hair was neatly trimmed, unlike the wild beards of the Dusmaini men, and he was smiling welcomingly, if not a little confusedly, as Elissa and Neria were nudged forward by Alcalored. The robes of faded saffron and red identified him as a lay brother of the Chantry.

"I am Brother Thiel," he introduced formally. "The Blessings of Andraste be upon you."

"And with you, Brother," Elissa answered, although Neria tactfully remained silent. "It is surprising to see one of the Chantry so far from, er, the larger towns."

"I was sent from Redcliffe's Chantry nine months ago to bring the Maker's word to the people Wilders," the man explained cheerfully. "It has been a hard road – most of the People of the Mist are not yet ready to open their hearts to Andraste. Still, I was luckier than most of the missionaries who have ventured south. The people who reside in this village wish to live by the Chant. Even their shaman sees the wisdom in Andraste's teachings."

"The Bride's words hold truth," the old woman agreed, although she watched Brother Thiel with a look that conveyed a glimmer of suspicion. "As long as they do not completely ignore what our people have known to as truth for generations."

"Of course," Brother Thiel assured her. To Elissa, he went on, "Unfortunately, their newfound faith has meant leaving their lands for fear of reprisals from others. But success is not without sacrifice, no? We travelled here, where few others would dare to venture, to make our own way in the sight of the Maker. It is harder for some than for others, but I have faith that this is the beginning of a thriving community. We intend to be a haven for those who grow weary of the fickleness of their pagan gods."

"Speaker, these women are not honoured guests," Drosten interrupted coolly. "We discovered them under the gravest of circumstances and have brought them here for justice. Not a sermon."

Brother Thiel's face fell. "Ah, yes. That matter. Rather unpleasant if it is true."

"We did not kill or desecrate anyone in that village," Neria piped up. "It was completely by chance we even happened upon it, seeing as how we're wandering without a map and all –"

Elissa sent her a quelling look. Neria's fast-talking abilities were no doubt impressive, but Elissa had a feeling that propriety and solemnity would get them farther than any attempts at wheedling their way out of trouble.

She bowed her head and addressed the shaman as she would a bann. "Excuse her, my lady, she has no idea of how to speak to people of standing. I am Elissa, daughter of Bryce, late of Highever far to the north."

"Hmph. A lowlander with manners. That in itself is a rarity that I have not encountered in many years," the old woman smirked. "I have heard the Speaker talk of this place called Highever and of the many strong warriors that come from there." Her eyes raked over Elissa. "According to our ways, the warrior's path is not reserved only for the men who would walk it. No doubt you are skilled, but it is still strange for two such young maidens to wander these dangerous lands alone. If you were not up to misfortune, what brought you to the village of our kinsmen at so inopportune a time?"

"You honour us with your words, my lady, and even more with your willingness to listen to ours," Elissa said, adopting the formal tone of a plaintiff. "My…companion and I have been travelling through the Hinterlands for days now. We are searching for another of the, er, Forest People. Her brother, to be specific."

"The Forest People do not pass this way," the shaman said sharply. "I believe they consider it too close to the people who oppressed their clans."

"Forgive me if I was unclear," Elissa amended. "We are not searching for many, only one. We believe he fled in this direction."

"Fled?" the shaman repeated. "Fled from what?"

Elissa hesitated, unsure of how much she should tell these people, especially how strongly they believed in the Chant. Mentioning crazed Templars at this juncture might not be a good idea. "He is being hunted by the men we believe attacked and killed your kinsfolk. We have been following their progress for a week now." More or less. "This is not the first village that they have defiled."

"A lie, no doubt," Drosten cut in. "There was no sign of anyone in that village except for you."

"We believe they are several days ahead of us," Elissa went on, pretending she hadn't heard Drosten. "And they are skilled. They capitalize on not being traceable."

"How have you followed them then?" the shaman inquired.

"Neria knows where they intend to go and so we've been travelling in that direction with the hope of finding her brother or the Tem – the men who did this. Today was the first indication we received that we were going in the right direction."

The shaman was quiet in deliberation for a long moment, so long that Elissa wondered if she had fallen asleep. Whispers broke out among the onlookers, and Elissa felt tightness in her stomach as she wondered what the outcome of this whole mess would be. Finally, the old woman moved, raising her hands above her to call for silence.

"I sense no lies in this woman's words," the shaman pronounced. Elissa let out a breath she hadn't realize she was holding. "However, this is a matter of dire circumstance. Many lives were lost and with no witnesses to the act. This lowlander has given us an account of what may have happened, but such a terrible event requires surety."

Elissa froze. 'Oh, this definitely doesn't sound good.'

"As has been done in ages past where men have sought validation by the spirits of our ancestors, we will leave guilt or innocence in the hands of the Maker," the shaman continued.

She glanced questioningly at Brother Thiel, who looked uncomfortable, but resolute. "Er, yes, as you say. _Blessed __are __the __righteous, __the __lights __in__ the __shadow. __In __their __blood __the __Maker__'__s __will __is __written_."

"You will fight to prove your words are truth," the shaman told Elissa. "If you live, you will be shown clemency. If you do not, it will be obvious that the Maker has judged you a liar."

"You have got to be kidding me," Neria muttered under her breath. "They're talking about a duel to the death, aren't they?"

Elissa didn't answer, too dumbfounded.

Trial by combat was a practice that had once been widespread in Ferelden, but had all but died out with blood feuding within the last generations. It had long since degenerated to simple duels that only ran to first blood, although in certain cases – usually situations where absolutely no resolution could be found through other, more peaceful means or when honour demanded it – the practice still allowed skirmishes to be fought to the death. Elissa had fought many a duel, but only to first blood.

She sent the Speaker an anxious look. "Are you sure this is necessary?"

"Surely there is another way to determine this," Brother Thiel interjected. "The Chant expressly forbids violence against any but the unjust."

"With no witnesses to speak the contrary, there is a chance they are unjust," the shaman answered.

"But equal chance that they are innocent," Brother Thiel maintained. "I cannot condone this uncouth act of violence – against a woman, no less."

"Whether you condone it or not is of no consequence," the shaman stated firmly. "You forget that I am the Elder to these people and that the proceedings of justice are mine to dole out. This was the agreement when we left the Wilds."

"Yes, but that was before – "

"If you truly wish to question the judgements that are well within my rights, do so. But know that you will no longer be welcome amongst us." She crossed her gnarled arms. "We are not lowlanders, Speaker, and though I grant that there is truth in the Bride's words, I will not turn my back on the laws that stretch back to the time before the Alamarri drove us to the threshold of the icy wastelands."

The crowd watching the argument were silent with bated breath, and Elissa could read anxiety on every faith. It was clear that both the shaman and the Speaker were held in high esteem, and argument between them was not something the Dusmaini were used to.

"This is directly against Andraste's teachings," Brother Thiel pleaded, although more subdued. "You would jeopardize what we have worked so long to accomplish for the sake of some strangers." He pointed to Elissa. "She is a believer, just as you are. You would force one of the faithful to undergo an archaic rite?"

"In order to maintain nature's balance, exceptions cannot be made," the shaman replied coolly. "I would have my own son undergo such a rite if it meant protecting truth – in fact, it is he who will take up the challenge to test the lowlander."

"But he isn't even truly one of our people," Brother Thiel protested, obviously grasping at straws.

"Then you need not worry about his soul being marred by the sin of an archaic rite," the shaman declared shrewdly.

'Uh-oh,' Elissa thought, 'does that mean what I think it means?'

"Drosten meqq Tarain," the shaman announced, gesturing beside her. For the first time Elissa saw the familiar resemblance in the stubborn set of their chins and the shape of their eyes. The young man stared down at her impassively, but a glint in his eyes told her that he had expected such an outcome.

She made herself look away.

"I…have done what I could," Brother Thiel told her regretfully. "Dusmaini tradition is quite clear on the concept, and I cannot risk my place here. It has taken too long to bring this community together under the Chant, and to lose it now over two strangers – who may or may not be guilty – please understand that I cannot." He bowed his head and raised a palm out over Elissa's head. "I pray that this conflict be resolved peacefully, and if not, than that mercy is shown."

"Oh, of course," Elissa said, hating the fact that her voice was coming out in a strangled squeak. 'Because this day wasn't going badly enough before.'

"He's going to kill you," Neria told her bluntly.

"Yes, thank you," Elissa groaned. "Any other helpful advice?"

"The witch may not aid you," the shaman declared. "In just the same way, Drosten will receive no help from us. Know that if you decline, we will pass judgement upon you the same as we would your witch companion."

"Well, seeing as how you put it that way," Elissa sighed. She turned to Neria. "My life's become ever so complicated since meeting you. Be sure that you mention that in my eulogy."

Neria considered her soberly. "If you die, I doubt I'll live very much longer afterward. I could probably take out a few dozen before they take me out, though."

"Always keep on the bright side of things," Elissa remarked as she hefted the flatblade. She addressed the shaman. "Where will we do this?"

"This matter shall be decided now, before all who have gathered, in order to have witnesses," the old woman declared. "Take your places before the people."

Alcalored led Neria over to one of the gangways and away from Elissa, while Drosten stalked purposefully toward her, the maul he had first attacked her with over his shoulder. A crowd of people had managed to push forward, forming a large circle around the two of them. Unlike the minor duels she had fought in before where friends and fellows had taken gambled and taken bets on the outcome, the crowd was mostly silent. This was not entertainment to them so much as a solemn proceeding.

Elissa considered her opponent with a critical eye, trying to come up with something that would help her win the fight. The man was at least fifty pounds heavier than she was, which meant he was definitely going to be stronger; perhaps even a little faster.

'I can do this,' she told herself, ignoring the voice at the back of her mind telling her the exact opposite. 'I've beaten a man with a maul before.' She winced inwardly. 'Although technically I had help on that one.'

He walked slowly forward and she came to meet him at the same measured pace. There was no sense in using all of her energy up in the beginning of a bout that she knew was going to be difficult. She raised the Chasind blade into a middle guard, as Duncan had suggested for her to start out with. She let her breath slide out through half-open lips, her attention focussing down the man in front of her and him alone.

Without warning, he cut forward with the maul, smooth and very fast.

_Clang!_

She guarded, the heavy arm making contact on the flat of her blade before she pulled away. They circled each other, and then he attacked hard in a flurry of overarm strikes. These were safer for him with his longer reach, but they were restrictive. That was the problem with mauls – they were strong, but there wasn't much technique to them.

'If I'm going to have any chance of getting out of this alive, I need to attack,' she thought desperately as she fended of his assault with a forced calm. Duncan had never shown her how to attack properly though. 'Not helpful right now. I need to use what I know from regular sword work and all the studying I've been doing. Just wing it. And pray.'

She lunged forward with a two-handed stab, cutting upward. Drosten jerked his torso backward from the waist and then came at her again. Her sword came up again, but the movement seemed surreal.

Iron rang under the fast, savage blows of the giant hammer. Her heel caught on a clod of dirt and she staggered. This saved her from taking the full brunt of a blow, but she still ended up falling backward. She hit the ground painfully and the sword went spinning.

Drosten moved quickly then, leaping forward to stamp his foot down on her chest to keep her in place while the maul went up for a looping blow to her neck. She cried out in pain as the force jarred her ribs. The muscles of Drosten's chest and arm knotted as the weapon commenced the arc, and her senses were thrown into sharp relief – the smell of sweat and smoke and moisture in the air – and the world seemed to freeze for a moment.

Her left arm came off the ground and slammed into the back of the Dusmaini's knee.

He heaved backward with a yell, and Elissa kicked her legs free, shoulder-rolling back to her feet. She lashed out and the maul went flying.

Drosten blinked in surprise the crowd around them drew in a collective breath.

He recovered obscenely quickly, though, leaping to his feet and swinging for her with his heavy fist. Elissa reacted instinctively, slashing the edge of her palm into the man's wrist. As he strove to regain his balance, his injured knee obviously paining him, she twisted around and kicked her heel into the back of that wounded joint again.

Drosten landed face forward. She thought she had gotten to him, but yet again he rolled to his feet. The fluidity of the movement was unnerving.

'Not human,' she thought in frustration as she tried to come up with another plan.

This time when he faced her, his expression was thoughtful, and she realized that she would lose the momentary edge if he recovered too much.

'Can't have that,' she decided, feinting forward with her fists raised. The man raised his own in what would have been a solid block, if Elissa hadn't diverted herself at just the right moment and kicked out beneath his guard. The ball of her foot thudded into Drosten's chest and he stopped as though he had run into a brick wall. The jarring impact on her already bruised ribs and the small of her back made her feel as though she had kicked one.

She crouched low and snapped her leg out, aiming for the man's kneecap, but Drosten seemed to expect it this time and made a grab for her foot. She was forced to divert the blow, knowing that if he caught her leg, one twist would render her helpless.

They were both standing again now, circling warily. Drosten was intent, and she could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. He was no doubt planning how to end the fight before she could show off any more surprises. She would have to end the fight before he managed to do that.

Suddenly Drosten's fist flashed out toward Elissa, clearly intending to take her out with one well-aimed punch. She almost didn't get her hands up in time, but as they met his fist, slapping it aside and locking around his wrist, she felt that crystalline moment that told her she was going to win.

She pivoted on her rear foot, leaning far over and pulling Drosten with her. Her left foot cut upward into the man's armpit, forcing him up on his toes with a grunt of surprise. She felt the _click_ of the joint telling her that she had dislocated it and as she came back down, released him and swept her leg low. This time the blow to his kneecaps hit, not hard enough to shatter the bone, but enough to knock him backwards.

Before he could get up, she threw herself forward, pinning him to the ground with a knee to the chest and his good hand pressed firmly into the floor by her left hand. She raised her right hand over him, aiming for his throat.

"I would…prefer…not to kill you," she panted, not letting up her grip on him in the slightest. "Seeing as how all of this has been a complete misunderstanding."

He too was out of breath, and for a silent moment he just stared intently into her eyes. When she was sure he intended her to kill him, he finally nodded. "I yield."

Excited murmurs broke out among the crowd. The shaman and the Speaker exchanged glances, the latter looking extremely relieved, and Ciardha gestured for silence.

"Let it be heard that not only is the lowlander truthful, but she has shown mercy to one of our own. Such an act is seldom is experienced from one of their kind," the shaman announced as Drosten picked himself up of the ground, "and so I believe it fitting that she lead the party that will hunt down those who murdered our kin and seek vengeance."

Brother Thiel made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and gaped at the shaman. Clearly his authority was being tested today.

"Causes in the name of vengeance are not considered just in the eyes of the Maker," he objected. "Andraste preaches forgiveness."

"Ordinarily I would agree with you, Speaker," the shaman told him gently. "But as I said, many lives were lost. Earth must be fed and blood repaid. Do you not think that those who believe in what you taught them deserve to be avenged?"

Brother Thiel appeared to realize that he would not win this argument, and sighed. "Of course, Ciardha. But I would rather not sacrifice more lives to do so."

"That is why only the best of us will go," the shaman declared. "Considering the lowlander has deemed to give Drosten his life, I think it fitting that he should travel with them."

"What?" Elissa couldn't help yelping. At the shaman's raised eyebrow, she amended, "Er, of course, as you say."

"What are you doing?" Neria demanded, pushing her way past where Alcalored had been keeping an eye on her. "We've been delayed enough as it is, and now you're allowing them to slow us down more by having _more_ people join us?"

Brother Thiel cleared his throat, regarding Neria with a frown. "Perhaps we ought to deal with the matter of the witch first."

There was a snarl on the mage's face, and Elissa had to interject, "She is my navigator. I need her with me. Otherwise, no one's going to find the men who murdered your kinfolk."

Brother Thiel continued to look conflicted, but the shaman seemed to have decided. "Very well. The witch is in your care." She silence Neria's obvious attempt at a complaint with a look, and then continued, "After you both have your wounds seen to, speak with Drosten about who will go with you. He knows which of our people will be of most use."

"Of course, my lady," Elissa uttered, feeling slightly nauseous. 'Just what in the Void have I gotten myself into?' She glanced sideways at Drosten. "I, er, look forward to travelling with you."

He moved forward with surprising speed, bringing his face close to her own.

"It is luck that won you that fight, not skill or the favor of any god," he said bluntly, low enough that the shaman couldn't hear him. "I will be keeping close watch on you in the coming days."

He stalked off, leaving Elissa and Neria standing on the shore by the village.

The mage turned and grinned at Elissa. "You know what? I think he likes you."

* * *

><p>I had sooooo much fun writing this chapter, and my beta says that it was his favorite so far. I hope you guys all feel the same!<p>

TBC


End file.
